


undercover

by burrfication



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anal Sex, Burr-centric, Canon Era, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nearly canon compliant, Oral Sex, Revolutionary War, Unhappy Ending, they work through that though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-03-29 06:59:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 64,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13921803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burrfication/pseuds/burrfication
Summary: To Burr’s dismay, the message was not a summons. His stay in New York was to be extended. His personal business may have been complete, but his professional business was not. The revolutionary sentiment in New York had reached a tipping point, and General Montegomery wanted Burr to do something about it.Along the way, Burr meets - and is quickly enchanted by - a fellow revolutionary by the name of John Laurens. Their relationship grows as the revolution progresses, and Burr learns things about himself he will never forget.





	1. Interruption

**Author's Note:**

> This is a nearly-canon compliant story that wormed its way into my skull after seeing Hamilton at the West End. 
> 
> To anyone concerned about the 'Unhappy Ending' tag: I don't do anything to them. But this is very nearly canon compliant, and we all know what happens to John at the end of Act 1.

The night they met, Burr was trying to take someone else home.

Fate had all but deposited his target into his lap: a pretty young man straight from the Caribbean, all fire and passion with a wit nearly as sharp as Burr’s own. He would not last long, Burr thought. He would destroy himself trying to effect change, either by attracting the wrong sort of attention or burning himself out. The man was doomed. In the meantime, Burr was selfish enough to want to taste that fire for himself before it died. It was the exact kind of fire and passion he found addicting. His advances were not unwelcome. They could not be open about their intents, but Burr had enough practice at this game to read the desire in the man’s eyes, the hunger hidden behind a sly smile.

“Buy me another drink, sir?” the stranger (Alexander, Burr reminded himself) purred, and Burr was helpless to do anything but oblige. When he returned from the bar, he was dismayed to see Alexander’s attention had moved to three newcomers. Burr surveyed the three distractions with a critical eye. They were handsome enough, he supposed, and for such a small group seemed to cover a broad range of age and class. That alone Burr found interesting, but that would not be what had attracted Alexander’s attention. The three of them were loudly, vocally opposed to the king. From what Burr knew of Alexander, he would be enamored with these strangers already. Burr agreed with their stance, but he disdained their candor. Such proud boastings were asking for trouble. If they did not hush up soon, they would bring this pub to the attention of the British - and that was the last thing Burr needed.

His breath left him when one of the trio turned and made eye contact. It felt to Burr as though some strange bolt of lightning had passed between them, dizzying and electric. God, and to think minutes ago he had thought he understood the world. He did not, clearly, or else he would not have been so unsettled by the warm, welcoming smile of a handsome stranger.

“Well, if it isn’t the prodigy of Princeton college. Aaron Burr, give us a verse, drop some knowledge.”

Burr’s heart sank. Of all the things this stranger could have asked for! So Burr said his piece, agreeing with the goals of the men but praising the merits of patience and guarded thoughts. It was a neat response. He said nothing of his hesitations regarding their more radical ideas, but if they wanted his thoughts on the king, they had them. As for the rest, Burr would let his actions speak for themselves

His words did not go over well. Two of the men scoffed, booing and mocking him. If Burr had been a more rash man (or a more drunk one) he would have taken offense at that. As it was, he stood there with a polite smile and well-concealed amusement. He was not so poorly off as to be offended by a tailor, and the Frenchman - well. He could not have been much less than Burr’s age, but that did not stop Burr from thinking of him as a youth. It was a side effect (Burr suspected) of graduating university early, of always being a year ahead of his peers. He had graduated before others his age had even thought of college. His classes had been filled with men who had several years on him, and that was the cohort he had learnt to settle with.

The third man (the one who had originally called out to him, Burr noted) was not half so rude in his response. There was disappointment in his expression, but he still offered Burr a welcoming smile.

“Burr, the revolution’s imminent, what do you stall for?”

Burr raised a single eyebrow. And here he had hoped the newcomer would have some spark of intelligence. At no point had he stalled or discouraged the revolution. He was no hypocrite. He had called for discipline in rebellion, not cowardice. It was tempting to let the matter lie, but Burr could not deny he had a soft spot for the stranger that had addressed him. He had never been good at resisting a handsome face. Against his own best judgement, Burr opened his mouth to explain why caution was merited. Before he could get even a single word out, Alexander jumped up from Burr's side. He drew the attention of the room with both his volume and the suddenness of his movement. It took every last drop of self control in Burr’s body not to jump at his voice: he had entirely forgotten the man was there. He had been happier having forgotten him. As Alexander spoke, Burr found himself drawing on his well of patience for a different reason. Of all the arrogant, self absorbed - and to think Burr had been thinking of taking the man to bed. He suppressed a shudder at the very idea. If nothing else good came of meeting these strangers, he would owe them for sparing him from that fate.

While Burr sat in the corner and sipped his beer, he watched Alexander assimilate into the group. There was no doubt in Burr’s mind that he was witnessing the birth of a disaster. The men egged each other on. What had started as a small annoyance had evolved into something dangerous. A rowdy group of men looking for any excuse to show off their revolutionary spirit in a display of bravado was, without fail, a riot waiting to happen. It made the beer taste sour in Burr’s mouth. They would start their fight, and if Burr lingered he would be caught in the crossfire. He drained his beer. The change in mood had extinguished his appetite for drink and company. He would be happiest in his own lonely bed.

As Burr was getting up to leave, he made eye contact with the man who had first approached him. Burr’s breath caught in the back of his throat. The stranger gave him a slight nod and raised his glass in tribute. Burr turned away in one sharp movement and strode out the door. It was not the calm and dignified exit he would have wanted, but Burr had known better than to risk lingering there. He did not trust his self control if he remained. He stepped out into the cool evening and marched down the street. He had barely made it half a block from the tavern when he heard a shout.

“You there!”

Burr froze. Six redcoats marched towards him, their leader pointing and beckoning him. Fear dripped down Burr’s spine like ice. He forced a smile. The expression felt ugly and rigid on his face, but he kept it in place as he walked up towards the soldiers and greeted them with an affable nod. He could only pray they did not know what he was. A night in British captivity would be uncomfortable at best: if they realized he was an officer in the Continental Army, it would be a death sentence. The idea chilled him to his very core. He would not let it come to that. If it came to it, he would fight, and die.

He let none of his fears show as he marched up and shook the captain’s hand. There was still a chance of bluffing his way through this. “Good evening, gentlemen. How might I be of service?”

Before the captain even answered, Burr knew his gamble had paid off. One of the soldiers breathed a sigh of relief, and even the captain’s shoulders relaxed. The cause was not too hard for Burr to guess: his was likely the friendliest greeting they had encountered all night. There was little love for British soldiers these days. Aside from the relief that he was not destined for the hangman's noose, Burr took pleasure in the poor discipline the soldiers showed. He would never have shown such open relief while in uniform.

“Good evening, sir. We’ve heard reports of some rabble-rousing locals causing trouble at a local establishment. I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything?”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” Burr said. Even as his heart pounded in his chest, he forced himself to take level and even breaths. The party at the tavern behind him continued on, loud and rowdy as ever. Burr ignored it and pointed down the length of the street. “Two blocks that way, and one more to the east. I’ve never seen a less civilized crowd. I shan’t repeat what they were saying about the Crown, but it’s a relief you gentlemen are here to teach them some common sense.”

The world seemed to freeze. Burr felt as though fate were balanced on the edge of a knife, with no way of knowing which way it would fall.

Then, all at once, the captain smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s good to know there are some patriotic Englishmen left in the colonies.”

Burr smiled. "It's thanks to fine men like you that we're still here. Is it true the King is sending the navy to save us?"

"Aye, and I'll be glad to see them," the captain admitted. "But it's many months before they'll be here. We must hold strong until they come."

Burr nodded in agreement and wished the men good night. He stepped aside and watched as the patrol marched down the street. It was not until they had safely passed the tavern that he turned back towards his accommodation, his heart still pounding in his chest. Disaster had been averted. He shuddered to think what might have happened if he had stayed for one more drink, or the patrol had shown up earlier in the evening. He had no doubt that the soldiers walking in on the revelling patriots would have led to bloodshed. All those brave, foolish men would have been slaughtered.

What horrified him even more was the awareness that for one dreadful moment, he had considered it. There was a part of Burr, previously unknown, that delighted in the idea of teaching the brave fools the merit of caution. As soon as the uncharitable thought had come, it was gone. It left Burr in a state of displeasure and dissatisfaction with his own conduct. He soothed himself with the idea that the thought was not truly his. It had come unbidden to his mind after a night of frustration, and would not have happened had he not been driven to the brink by Hamilton and his ilk. And if he could lay the blame there, Burr was secure in the knowledge he would not think such things again. As soon as his business in New York was conducted, he could return to the war in Canada, safely away from such distractions. The thought was an anomaly, not a sign of some deeper violence in his soul.

Despite such reassurances, Burr’s dreams that night were haunted by images from that night. He awoke the next morning with a foul taste in his mouth and a headache that could not be entirely explained by his drinking. It was a vile way to start the day, but there was nothing to do but make the best of it. He bathed and dressed quickly before venturing out to face the day. He was expecting a message from General Montgomery himself.

To Burr’s dismay, the message was not a summons. His stay in New York was to be extended for a period of months. His personal business may have been complete, but his professional business was not. It took three hours for Burr to decode the message. When he had finally cracked the last part of the cipher, he let out a long sigh. His post would have to wait. His friends in Canada, the glory of battle - all of it would have to wait. The revolutionary sentiment in New York had reached a tipping point. Word had reached the higher echelons of command that there were civilians ready and willing to provide covert assistance to the Continental Army. The risks were high, but the opportunity was too good to refuse. A chance to gain a foothold in New York was not something any sane man would pass up. They had to act now. The army needed someone to make contact with the would-be rebels. That someone had to be persuasive, politically savvy and high-ranking enough to negotiate - but not so high-ranking that they could not be sacrificed if this were a trap. They needed an intelligent and ambitious man, but a man willing to make sacrifices for the cause. Most importantly, they needed a man already in or close to New York.

In short, they needed Burr.

As little as he liked the news, Burr was a soldier. He booked in another three months accomodation with the landlord that very day. The letter he burned. Both the original encoded message and his own translation were fixed in his memory, and the risk of leaving such documents around was high. If Burr was caught, it would not be because he had not managed his affairs with due diligence. He sat and watched the paper crisp and curl in the flames. Only when the very last scrap of parchment had crumpled away into ash did he turn away from the fire and begin his prescribed task. Whether he liked it or not, he had rebels to find.

He started with dead drops.

Dead drops were not the most reliable form of communication, but Burr had little choice. The contacts he had in New York were either unable to help or unable to provide evidence to support their claims. Rather than risk his neck on rumour alone, Burr ignored them. It would take longer, but Burr consoled himself with the fact that he would get no medals for getting himself caught and hanged. Instead, he spread rumours about his own presence and purpose in the city. The locations of the dead drops he shared were true, but he changed the description of himself every time he shared the story. One source heard the Continental soldier was a tall Virginian with ice blue eyes. Another heard it was no soldier at all, but a band of soldier’s wives who had taken it upon themselves to organize information for their husbands; yet another believed it was an elderly man with a cane and a strong accent. He told no one the truth. Every night, he visited a different tavern and listened to the rumour mills churn. When he heard a group of young loyalists talking about ambushing the man responsible for the drops, Burr knew exactly who they had spoken to. He did not say anything to the weak link. If he acted, then he would get no more use out of the traitor. It would be better to keep him close and feed him misinformation than to risk cutting him loose.

To begin, Burr’s work was concerned with delivering dead drops and checking the designated reply locations. He began immediately. There were long gaps of inaction between tasks, but Burr built a routine nonetheless. Throughout the course of the week, he visited every corner of the city with some pretense or other. He seized any excuse to reach his drops. So long as his habits appeared ordinary to an observer, he could move about the city at will.

On Mondays and Thursdays, he made a trip to the markets to fill his cupboards with bread and wine and vegetables for the week. He made no attempts at subterfuge on such visits: he befriended the shopkeepers and the other customers and flirted with the baker’s daughter. No one thought twice when he started lingering around the back of the baker’s building. The one time he was caught tucking a note behind a loose brick, Burr winked at the man who was looking at him.

“Don’t tell her father.”

The two of them had exchanged knowing looks, and the stranger had dipped his hat and went on his way. The interaction gave the stranger no reason to be suspicious of Burr's purpose, and so his mission was safe.

Tuesdays and Fridays were bank days. There was no pretence in those, at least: even if Burr was under cover, his finances still required managing. Those days were long and dull, but Burr took comfort in the familiarity. At the end of each day, he checked a secure lock box sealed with a combination lock. The combination he required potential contacts to guess: if they could not solve his simple riddle about tea time in Massachusetts, he did not trust them to hold the right end of a blade, let alone run covert missions. He kept an eye on the lock box as he worked. Many people walked past, but not once did he see anyone attempt to open his safe.

On Sundays, Burr went to church. More to the point, he went to church three times, citing the influence of his grandfather to anyone who noticed his devotion. He slid his messages between the same pages of the same Bible every time. It was a page not often opened by the ordinary parishioners: Judges 8:22-23, a verse that had lost a great deal of popularity with the British after the publication of Common Sense. Not only did Sundays provide him with an opportunity to leave notes, it gave him access to a different kind of gossip. Taverns were not the only places rumours spread.

If he had to pick a favourite day of the week, Burr would be torn between Wednesdays and Saturdays. On Wednesdays, he visited his old home of King’s College. The library building was just as grand as he remembered. He would spend hours wandering the aisles, picking out texts on everything from ancient literature to modern natural philosophy. He slipped his secret messages between two little-used books in the history section, between two of his favourite texts. This was one of the few advantages to being stationed in New York: access to books. Burr was a voracious reader. Each day he visited, he left the library with his arms full of reading material for the week. The topic did not particularly matter. He had his favourite subjects, but when he had time, he liked to expand his horizons as much as possible. Time was one thing he had in abundance now. His schedule left plenty of time for reading. There was only so much time he could spend checking dead drops or eavesdropping in pubs, and he hated to spend most of the day idle.

On Saturdays, he visited gambling dens and brothels. He would not pretend he was above gambling, and Burr suspected there was not a man alive who had not spent at least some time of his life as a regular patron of a brothel. In such habits it would be easy to make enemies, but he was careful to make sure he was well-liked wherever he went. No one liked a man who was good at poker, so Burr let himself win only when his purse was beginning to feel light. At the brothel, he was as much a gentleman as one could be under the circumstances. He kept his hands to himself while negotiating price, and he always made sure to pay a little extra. It was doubtful that he was regarded with any fondness by the women that worked there, but he would be content if they did not hate him. At the very least, he was confident he was no more hated than any other customer.

By the end of the first week, Burr had four responses to his initial nine drops. One he discounted immediately as a trap. The other three he poured over for hours before crafting a response to each. He analysed their correspondence for several weeks. He did everything he could to verify the intentions and character of his targeted recruits, but deep down he knew there was only one way to be sure. Sooner or later, he would have to pick one or more to meet with. No matter what cautions or protections Burr took about the meeting, it would be a sink or swim moment. If he had chosen well, he would have his first recruit. If he had chosen poorly, then at best he would be left alone and friendless - but it was far more likely he would be arrested and executed. It was a sobering thought.

If he had to meet someone, the choice was clear. There was only one contact who had remained steadfast through all of Burr’s pedantic validation procedures. The man fascinated Burr. His handwriting was sloppy, but not unrefined. He had undoubtedly been taught better practices at some point (Burr recognized the way he looped his f’s and g’s from his own education), but either haste or laziness rendered the writing into a slanted scribble. Burr suspected laziness, or perhaps apathy. There was nothing about the words themselves that suggested they had a similar lack of care. The writing was blunt and curt, but no less persuasive for it.

To Burr’s surprise, he found himself looking forward to communicating with his favourite letter-writer. He caught himself wondering at odd times what the man was like. He had some level of education, so he presumably came to a family of some means. Burr hoped that did not mean he was arrogant. He had heard his general complaining bitterly about puffed up landowners and European lords strutting about, demanding a command position and a fat salary to match just for the achievement of walking through an open tent flap. Burr was patient, but he did not have the patience to deal with that. He preferred to imagine a man not entirely dissimilar to himself. They undoubtedly had different temperaments and approaches to life, but that did not mean they would not see eye-to-eye on those things that mattered. It would be nice to have an agreeable ally to rely on. It would ease the burden of the operation on Burr's mind, to say nothing of the appeal in having a friend in New York. He wrote often to his friends in Canada, but it was not the same. For entirely selfish reasons, he hoped for a man with whom he could build a rapport.

Similar or not, after one month Burr had resolved to meet him. He would find no more about this mystery man from his letters. Once the decision was made, he set his plans in action without delay. The man was to meet him at a certain tavern at a certain time. Burr did not tell him what he looked like, but he described what he would be wearing and drinking. After some thought, he resolved to take one of his books along. He chose one of the more obscure texts and named it in the instructions, all to make sure the man would be able to identify him. Lastly, he specified a pass-phrase that was to be used. Once the drop was delivered to the agreed location (a lamp post near the library that Burr knew was never lit), his work was done. There was nothing Burr could do but wait.


	2. initiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! This fic is going to take a while between updates because the chapters are longer than I'm used to, but it is definitely still happening!
> 
> fun fact: he's "John" and not "Laurens" throughout this because my computer keeps autocorrecting Laurens to Lauren.

The day of the meeting, Burr took his time getting ready. He rose early and packed his belongings. If all went well, the preparation would be unnecessary, but if he had to flee the city, he would at least do so with more than the clothes on his back. He took the time to bathe before dressing in the suit he had described in the note. It was his plainest outfit. The bland design was in line with what a naive revolutionary would expect of someone committed enough to join the Continental Army. Bright colours and pageantry had become unfashionable amongst those opposed to the excesses of the Crown. Although Burr missed some of the finer fabrics from his youth, he had no complaints about the recent lurch away from colourful dress - and anything that got him out of a powdered wig was more than welcome. 

The bar was quiet when he arrived. Burr arrived an hour early by design, wanting to take his measure of the mood before committing to the meeting. Once he was satisfied it was safe to proceed, he settled down in a corner and began to read. He did not intend to lose himself in his book, but the text was more engrossing than he expected. One minute turned into an hour. Burr did not realize, too busy devouring the book in front of him. It was not until a shadow cast over his table that he looked up with a small start. As soon as they made eye contact, Burr felt like ice had been poured down the back of his shirt. He knew this man. He barely remembered his name, but he had been haunted by memories of whiskey eyes for three days after their brief meeting.

“Burr?”

“Mr... Laurens, wasn’t it?”

“John Laurens. I didn’t expect to see you here,” John said slowly. Burr raised an eyebrow. Brash, open, but inexplicably persuasive - yes, from what he knew, John could fit the bill. He had already diverted from the script Burr had specified, but that was hardly surprising. From what he had seen of the man, military discipline would not be his strong suit. 

When the silence stretched out, Burr offered him a polite smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, but I’m afraid I’m not available for conversation this evening. Perhaps we will run into someone another time.”

Without waiting to see John’ response, he picked up his book and pretended to read. There was no chance he would be able to focus with those eyes fixed on him as though trying to stare into his very soul, but the pretense would be enough. After a second, he heard John speak again. As innocuous as the words sounded, he enunciated each word with enough care that the phrase sounded slow and clunky.

“You frequent the library?”

Burr smiled. “Yes, from Kings, a few blocks from here. Their natural philosophy section is excellent. Are you a scholar?”

Burr could not deny the smug swell of satisfaction he felt as Lauren’s eyes widened. 

“When time permits, although calculus is not my strong suit.”

“Luckily for you, it happens to be my area of expertise. I can tutor you,” Burr said. It was a bald-faced lie (he had no head for numbers), but it was the final key to their agreed phrase. He watched John take the seat opposite him.

It was inconvenient that his contact was someone he knew, but Burr tried to focus on the positives. His familiarity with John went a long way to easing any concerns he had about recruiting a British spy. Had he not met John before, he would have been suspicious. His conviction in his beliefs seemed almost too impassioned to be earnest, and Burr had no doubt he would otherwise have mistaken him for a Loyalist’s poorly-executed caricature of what a rebel was like. As it was, he had no such concerns. Whatever else John was, he was a true enemy of Britain. The fact that he had finally decided to act on his convictions instead of drunkenly boasting was something Burr could only take as a good sign. If his conviction matched his enthusiasm, there was hope for him yet. 

“I didn’t think you - you wanted us to be quiet!”

“Yes,” Burr said. He drained his drink in one long gulp and got to his feet. “I am happy to explain why on the way, but we must be moving.”

“Where are we going?” John wanted to know. His expression was anxious, even more so than Burr would have expected. He watched John’ eyes dart off to one side. When he was sure he was not being watched, Burr let himself look in the same direction. It took him a moment, but he soon found what he was looking for. There was a stranger watching them. He likely thought he was very subtle, peering at them from behind a pint of beer and ducking behind another patron when he saw Burr looking. The fact that Burr had not seen him earlier was an embarrassment. The man must have been watching them for some time. It annoyed him that John had disobeyed his direct orders to come alone, but in this one matter he could not blame the man. If Burr had had access to backup, he would have brought them, too. 

Unfortunately, Burr did not have access to backup. He was working alone, and he was damned if he was going to stay in a location where he knew he was outnumbered. His original instincts had been correct: now that he had met his contact, it was time to relocate.

“Elsewhere. Follow me.”

He did not look back to see if John followed when he walked out the building. Either he would take the hint and follow Burr’s lead, or he was of no use to Burr. The tavern door swung shut behind him. A few seconds later it burst back open as John scrambled after him.

“Burr. Wait. You’re sure you’re the one I’m here for?”

Burr sighed. He stopped in the middle of the street and turned to face his companion. “Mister Laurens. I came here tonight on business to meet a contact of mine. If you are not the contact, I would be most grateful if you would leave me to complete my duties in peace, and I bid you a good evening. If you are that contact, then I would ask you to remember the roles we are playing. I am leaving. It is your choice if you wish to leave with me.”

In all honesty, Burr did not expect John to follow. The man was impatient and prideful. He would not like playing second fiddle to anyone, much less a man imbued with as much sense and caution as Burr. But, to his pleasant surprise, the fight went out of John shoulders. At his nod, Burr turned and led the way down the street. John followed close at his heel. Burr had no doubt the man was brimming with questions, but to his credit he kept his words to himself. 

After three blocks, Burr realized they were being tailed. He dallied as they turned a corner, feigning interest in a wanted poster someone had pinned to the side of a house. The ruse allowed him a glimpse of his pursuers. Six men in total, including the first man he had seen at the tavern. One of the others looked familiar, and although Burr could not place his face, he had no doubts about his intent. The men were undoubtedly friends of John. He could not fault them for wanting to protect their friend, but it put Burr in an inconvenient position. He needed to be rid of them, and he could not let them know his identity. He had no desire to reveal his purpose in New York to such a large crowd. Drawing John’s attention to them, then, was not an option. Instead he walked a block further, feigning oblivious ease. At the last possible minute, he grabbed John and darted down an alleyway. He pinned him to the wall and held a hand over his mouth. It took all of Burr’s weight to hold John in place. He could feel the warmth of his body against his own, pressed so close he could hear John’ heart pound in fear. John struggled, but Burr was not so easily dislodged. John may be stronger, but Burr was used to fighting men larger and heavier than him. He had made a point of learning how to manage it, and it showed. He had John trapped, at least for the time being.

It was only after their followers had raced passed them that Burr stepped back and allowed John to move. “We were being followed.”

“My friends,” John protested. Burr nodded in acknowledgement, but did not apologize. A scowl settled over John face. “They were making sure I was safe. That this wasn’t a trap.”

“If this was a trap, I’d have a dozen men waiting around the corner, prepared to cut your friends to pieces.” Burr paused for a moment, giving time for horror and fear to creep over John’ face. Once John’s pupils had dilated in fear, Burr smiled. When he spoke next, his tone was far more gentle. “Fortunately, I am no Loyalist. I am a captain in the Continental Army, reporting directly to General Montgomery. I am in New York on military business.”

The newfound respect and awe John’ looked at him with was gratifying to say the least. “A captain in the Continental Army,” he wondered aloud. 

“I am sure you now understand why I am eager to avoid any activities that may attract the attention of the English. While our friends in the local militia may sometimes get a fair trial from the Crown, regular soldiers get no such quarter - Continental officers, even less. I've no desire to face the hangman's noose.”

It was not the whole reason Burr preferred to avoid attention, but it was a reason he knew John would listen to. He nodded at Burr’s words and straightened his spine. “I should apologize. I -”

“Keep your apologies to yourself. Meditate them on the next time you feel inclined to run your mouth,” Burr said. He appreciated the wince that stole over John’ face at his words. It would do the man good to learn his actions may have consequences. He allowed John a few moments to feel shame for his behaviour before he walked out of the alley and towards the room he had booked for the meeting. As he walked, he spoke.

“You will, of course, say nothing of this to your friends. You will use my rank and only my rank if you refer to these meetings, and I must caution you against telling too many people about our work. The more people know about us, the more likely it is that we will be caught.”

“And if they see us together?”

“Then we convince them it is a social call,” Burr said with a shrug. “Tell them you were lecturing me on the virtues of revolution. It will be a plausible cover. They have no reason to think any differently than you did earlier this evening.”

John let out an anxious little laugh. For a moment, Burr thought he was going to argue about this, too, but to his great relief no argument was forthcoming. 

The walk to their room was short. Burr had picked the inn carefully. He knew the innkeeper and had served with his son in Canada. There was no tavern in New York he could think of that would be safer to hold such a meeting. Burr had paid him one whole pound for the most secure room he could offer. It was an upstairs room at the end of the corridor, separated from the rest of the inn by a series of storerooms. The window looked out over the stable, providing an escape route if the door was blocked. At Burr’s request, the floor had been layered in cheap rugs and tapestries to keep sound from penetrating the wooden walls. 

For the purposes of his meeting with John, a table had been added to the center of the room and the bed pushed into a corner. Burr took a seat at the table without delay and gestured for John to join him.

“This is a safe place. It is one of the few places we can speak openly about our work.”

“So there is to be work, then?”

The eagerness was refreshing, but Burr could not help but laugh. “I would not have gone to the trouble of contacting you if there was no work to be done. There is plenty for you to do. Before we begin, there are some rules I must set forth.”

‘Some’ was not the right word to indicate the number of terms Burr had, but ‘many’ would scare John away. Burr introduced the rules one at a time, and always with reason and logic. Reason, he knew, was the key. Different as their temperaments were, John was a man as respectable as Burr was. He knew how much he himself disliked orders without instruction, and he would not ask John to abide by his terms by Burr’s command alone. In doing so, he hoped it earned him some respect. There would be times when Burr would be unable to explain his purposes: when that time came, he hoped John would remember he had been frank when the circumstances had permitted.

The first of the rules pertained to secrecy and safety. Burr’s identity was to be a fiercely kept secret. No one, not matter how dearly John trusted them, could know that Burr was the Continental Army officer operating in New York. In return, Burr would keep John’ identity a secret for as long as the war continued. To preserve their secrecy, communication would no longer be completed by dead drops. Burr would teach John a simple cipher, and all communication between them was to be encrypted. The encryption would not stand up to British code-crackers, but it would be enough to stop an ordinary Redcoat from realizing he held rebel intelligence in his hands. That was all they needed it to do.

The second outlined how John was to operate. For the first few missions, he was to work alone. That rule drew a great deal of frustration, but Burr stood firm. They could talk about organizing a team to work with John, but that would only happen once Burr was confident in his loyalties and capabilities. For now, John would be responsible for himself and only himself. Anything else would lead to unnecessary bloodshed. 

They were to meet once a week to discuss John’s work, British activity, and any other matters that may be relevant. The location of each meeting was to be random, agreed upon at the previous meeting. Outside of the prescribed meeting times, John was not to seek out Burr in person unless in the utmost crisis. If John found himself in trouble with the British as a result of his work, Burr would of course do everything he could to help him; but if he ended up in the same situation due to his vocal opinions, he should not expect any rescue attempt. That, too, angered John. It was not the implication that he might need rescue that offended him. Instead, John was outraged at the idea that they would not help everyone who needed it. It was the most naive protest Burr had ever heard. Even if Burr dedicated every waking second to rescuing and protecting well-meaning revolutionaries, there were simply too many cases for him to handle. It was more important that men like Burr and John kept themselves safe. If they did that, they could organize more effective resistance. John disliked his explanation almost as much as the rule itself, but in the end, he conceded the point.

The final rule was the hardest for John to accept, and the one Burr could least afford to compromise on: obedience. As a captain, Burr was the ranking officer in the city. He was also the only connection John had to the rest of the army and the sole source of orders. That was not to say Burr intended to be unreasonable. Most of Burr’s instructions would come in the form of requests, often accompanied by an explanation. They were free thinking men and deserved to be treated as such. But in the event Burr was forced to resort to direct orders, he expected obedience. He was an officer: John was acting as an agent of the Continental Army. The chain of command existed for a reason. 

It took more than an hour for the two of them to hammer out the terms of their relationship. Once it had been agreed, they shook hands. To celebrate, Burr bought two large pints of the innkeeper’s best ale. While they drank, John pestered Burr for stories from his time in Canada and active duty. It was not a topic Burr enjoyed (the invasion was not proceeding well, and he dreaded to think what the army would do come winter), but he recognized the importance of spreading war propaganda. He told John of the battles he had fought and the men he had killed. He said nothing of the perils of navigating an army through a swollen fjord, nor how intimately familiar he had become with hunger gnawing at his belly. When he talked about his fallen comrades, he let John think they had died a glorious death. He did not tell him how often dying soldiers cried for their mothers, or how a bullet to the gut could take days to kill as your blood and intestines mingled as one. That was a favour to himself as much as to John: too much time dwelling on the dead made his heart heavy. It was better to let John think there was nobility in sacrifice.

Finally, before they left, he gave John his first task. John was to frequent a particular Loyalist tavern under the guise of a regular patron and gather information. After one week, he was to report to Burr on all he had learnt. It was a simple task, designed to test his patience as much as his skill, but Burr still hoped to learn a thing or two about how good John was at information gathering. Discretion was a valuable skill. If John was not able to learn and deploy it, his utility to Burr would be limited. 

He liked the task about as much as Burr expected. His expression pinched when he was told what to do, but to his credit John did not argue. Burr did not bother to explain the value of information gathering. John was a smart enough man to know how much commanders relied on good information networks. If Burr could build a network in New York, the Patriot position would be that much stronger. They shook hands and parted ways. Burr could only hope John proved as committed to the cause as he claimed to be. 

He did not think of John for another week. Burr had his own work to do, all of it more demanding than simple eavesdropping. He built relationships with traders who dealt with both sides of the war. His plan was not to persuade them to betray the British, but so that he could betray them himself. The information he used to plan his movements. He learnt where the British housed their contraband and where the weak points of their supply lines were. He found out how traders shipped their cargo from the port to British strongholds, and what identification they needed to be allowed past. When he had gathered enough information to risk action, he planned each strike with care. Compared to his fellow soldiers, Burr’s attacks had a low body count. He preferred to slip in and out undetected, allowing the possibility of repeated attacks over many months. On the rare occasion he deemed it necessarily to kill someone, he did so as discreetly as possible. It was as much a practicality as a strategic decision. Burr completed his missions alone, and he had no desire to find himself outnumbered in a gunfight.

When Burr finally turned his mind to his new ally, he found himself surprised. Burr had to give credit where it was due: John performed his task admirably well. His report on the meetings at the tavern was both relevant and detailed. The results surprised Burr. John’ temperament aside, he had not expected a single tavern to yield such a wealth of information. He spent two full hours analysing the information, searching for hints or clues John may have missed. He did so with John there. Not only did that provide him better access to the details of the information, it let him see how John's mind worked. There were plenty of things to find, but Burr was pleased by what John had noticed. He had an intriguing way of approaching problems. John could not keep up with Burr, but Burr had yet to find a man who could. Overall, Burr was impressed. He congratulated John with a smile and a clap on the shoulder.

His mistake came when he asked how John had found the work. If Burr had thought his information was detailed, that was nothing compared to his complaints. John had been horrified by what he had heard. He had bitten his tongue to the point of bleeding more than once, and he begged Burr to let him take a group of men round to loot and burn the tavern to the ground. Burr refused.

“But the things they were saying!” John protested. 

“The things they were saying proved invaluable to your mission and will help us ensure our work hurts as many Englishmen as possible,” Burr said. “Throwing away such a valuable source of information would be the height of foolishness. You will leave the tavern untouched.” 

John must have known Burr was right, but he was not going to pretend to like it. He argued his point bitterly. He was fired up and passionate, even if three full days had passed since the particular incident they were talking about. He gesticulated and shouted, waving his arms as he paced around the room. Burr could not help but smile. Now that he knew John was willing to support his beliefs with action, he could not help finding his passion almost endearing. It was certainly attractive. Burr had always held an uncomfortable attraction towards men with passion and ideals, and John was no different. He pushed the thought aside without hesitation. His attraction to men was as persistent as it was inconvenient, but Burr had learnt there were times it was best to deny himself. In this case, with his name, reputation and rank all on the line, indulging in such fancies would be suicide. He would restrain himself as he always did.

The second task he gave John was similar to the first, but with a more immediate purpose. There was a trader who had taken American dollars, then promptly turned and sent their much-needed supplies to the British. Burr intended to raid their store. Before they could do that, he needed John to find out everything he could about their target. Burr wanted to know everything, from the customers to the building to the habits of the owner. He would leave nothing to chance. Once John had gathered enough information, Burr would allow him to conduct the raid. John left with a spring in his step, clearly happier about this bit of work than his last one. 

Over the next several weeks, Burr developed a deep respect for John capabilities. He did not stop his raucous trouble-making, but Burr was willing to turn a blind eye to that in sight of John’s capabilities. He was everything the army could have hoped for in an agent. He was loyal, he was skilled, and he was lethal. Within a month, Burr felt secure enough to entrust him with missions much more dangerous than he had originally planned. Within two months, he was planning joint operations that required the two of them to cooperate in the field. Joint operations were not something Burr had considered as an option prior to John’s performance. Trusting a man who was not even a soldier to have his back seemed foolhardy at best. But there was something about John persistent successes and open commitment to the cause that set Burr’s mind at ease. Their methods may be different, but he could trust John as well as he could trust any soldier. That was enough for Burr.

If Burr had one complaint, it was that John was too quick to resort to violence in the face of a challenge. Given a choice between mercy and blood, he killed his enemy every time. Once noticed, Burr could not forget it. There was a violent energy humming under John skin, ever-flowing and vicious. It was more than the adrenaline of a life-or-death battle. That was something Burr himself was intimately familiar with, and he knew looked nothing like this. John's temper simmered and boiled even in times of relative peace. John could sit in a safe-house, entirely at ease, and it would still be there. It was easy to miss if one looked only at the relaxed set of his shoulders and the smile on his face, but the roiling darkness shifted and shimmered behind his sweet brown eyes. It sent shivers down Burr’s spine for all the wrong reasons. It should have sent him running for the hills. At the very least, he should have prepared precautionary measures against the risk of John turning that violent energy against him. Instead, Burr found himself intoxicated by that heady promise of chaos. 

It was not news to Burr that he was attracted to men. It was not even news that he found John to be an attractive man. He had found John handsome the second he’d laid eyes on him. As obnoxious and vocal as he was about his views, Burr had always had a weakness for men with charisma and conviction. It was likely a side effect of denying himself such luxuries. He may not be able to indulge in wild passions and vocal public outbursts, but if Burr was going to take the risk of bedding a man, he may as well get to taste that freedom while he could. John offered him that taste, along with the respect Burr knew he deserved. It was an intoxicating promise.

What did surprise Burr was how persistent his attraction to John was once it had taken root. It was not the violent lust that kept Burr captivated, but its polar opposite. John showed kindness and patience to even the most wretched of people, so long as they did not support the king. He opened his purse for every beggar and spoke kindly to the sick and injured on the streets. More than once, Burr saw him put himself in peril to help a stranger. The peculiar juxtaposition of chaotic violence and even-tempered patience kept Burr captivated. It was a fruitless exercise. Even if John held such inclinations, Burr had closed the door on any intimate relations the moment he chose to associate with John in a professional context. They were comrades in arms. They were also friends (or at least, Burr told himself, he thought they were friends). Both of those things precluded any sexual relationship. Cavorting around with fellow soldiers was a recipe for disaster at the best of times, to say nothing of the mess that came from the chain of command. Similar risks came from bedding one’s friends. If things turned sour, John knew enough to ruin Burr ten times over. There was not any man Burr would trust with that power.

Burr knew this, and he still found his heart pounding whenever John fixed him with his intense stare. He let his fingertips linger against John’s skin whenever he passed him papers - never long enough to raise suspicion, but long enough that he could feel the warmth of his skin. It was an addiction. Burr wanted and denied himself in spades, but that did not make it any easier to bear. It was a thirst that could not be slaked, no matter how deeply he drank at other wells. 

He allowed himself one indulgence: his meetings with John grew more frequent. Each time, they lingered a little longer in each other’s company through mutual agreement. At first they kept up some pretense of business, but even that soon fell away. They were soon undoubtedly friends. It was the only explanation for why John felt so at ease sharing facts about his life with Burr. He told him about his hopes and dreams and his friends here in New York. He spoke often of his time in Europe, drinking and debating with Enlightened minds throughout the Continent. There seemed to be nothing John felt the need to hide from Burr. If he was far enough into his cups, he would even talk about the family he had left behind in South Carolina. He had a wife, which surprised Burr for reasons he did not like to think about. It was both foolish and hypocritical for the idea to disturb him as much as it did. He may be unwed, but there were plenty of beautiful women in Burr’s life and bed. 

In return, Burr found himself sharing things with John. He did not share facts about himself often. Burr kept his inner circle close and spoke of himself rarely, but in John he had found a man he felt he could confide in. It did not help that John appeared to want to learn. Burr did not think his background worth discussion, but when prompted he found himself sharing more than he was ordinarily inclined to. He found himself telling John about his time at college. He had been younger than most students, and only one other man had been attempting a course as rigorous as his. The stress broke him, but it did not break Burr. It tempered him. It taught him the power of self-denial, better than the sermons of his grandfather or the belt of his uncle ever could have done. He told John about all the things he missed: his closest friend, his sister, the soldiers at his command. Letters could not do his thoughts justice. Being removed from them was a never-healing wound, and Burr lamented the fact that he had been left in New York. The comforts New York offered did not outweigh the pain of the separation. John listened to every word as if Burr were sharing the secrets of the universe. He was a good confidant. He offered humour in the face of indignity, vengeance in the face of insult and solidarity in the face of grief. 

It was inevitable that they should reach a time where they would meet with no pretense. When John tracked Burr down one evening with no intentions beyond drinking and gossiping, Burr made none of the protests he should have. The evening passed in good humour, and Burr struggled to remember the last time he had felt such casual enjoyment.

“You need to relax more,” John told him with a laugh, slinging an arm around Burr’s shoulders. Burr closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. It was not untrue. Burr did not think there was a single friend in his life who did not think he needed to relax more. But he did not know how he was supposed to relax with the warmth of John’ body right there, stirring his blood in ways he did not want. 

Rather than protesting, Burr bought another round of drinks. He was not sure if it was the second or the third, but whichever it was became insignificant in the sheer number of drinks that followed. Drinking this much was foolish, but Burr could not help but feel relaxed. They had taken their drinks away from the main tavern to one of Burr’s many safe-houses dotted throughout the city. It was one of the few places that was safe to talk openly. 

That, he assumed, was why John felt comfortable leaning back in his chair and fixing Burr with a stare. “You know, Alexander says you were trying to bed him.”

A man with less composure would have choked on his beer. Burr came very close, but took the time to swallow despite the way his throat seemed to want to close up. His heart pounded in his chest. There weren’t many good options. John knew the exits from this building as well as he did, and Burr did not think he had the strength in either body or will to take him in a fight. He had just one option. He would have to talk his way out. He met John eyes with a steady gaze and hoped he would be fooled by the flat disapproval in Burr’s voice.

“That’s a serious accusation. If Alexander wishes to spread such vile slander, then he can say it to my face. All he has to do is name a time and a place.”

John gave a snort of laughter. “Relax, he’s not told anyone else. Your secret is safe.”

“There is no secret. I have no idea where he got such ludicrous ideas from. I’ve no interest in bedding any man, and I cannot fathom why anyone would.”

“Really,” John said, his tone flat. 

There was shadow of something Burr could not name in John eyes: that same restless, turbulent energy that Burr had been entranced by so many times. Burr felt a bead of sweat appear on his forehead. He had seen first hand the lengths John was willing to go to to protect his friends. However close he and John were, if John decided he was a threat to Hamilton, Burr did not expect to see out the night. He took a breath and steadied himself. With a knowing smile, he spread his hands wide in a gesture of innocence.

“What desire could I possibly have that couldn’t be satisfied by a woman?”

“You expect me to believe you’ve never wondered?” 

If John’s voice had not been dripping with disbelief, the sly smile and raised eyebrows would have been indication of his doubt. The response confused Burr. He could not figure out how this change fit in with threatening and blackmailing him. Nevertheless, Burr met his eyes and stared him down.

“Not once.”

“You’ve never even been curious? You don’t look at a man and wonder what pleasures he might have to offer?”

Burr shook his head. John leaned in closer, close enough that Burr could smell the alcohol on his breath. “You know what I think, Burr?”

“Do enlighten me.”

The pause that followed felt like an age. John’ eyes fixed on Burr’s, neither of them willing to look away. Burr felt hypnotized. He could not breathe, let alone look away or defend himself. 

Despite the adrenaline rushing through Burr, it was John that blinked first. He leaned back in his chair with an easy grin. 

“I think it’s time for more beer.”

Burr’s relief was palpable. It seemed to him as though oxygen had only just returned to the room, allowing him to breathe deeply. He was safe. John knew nothing; or if he did, he did not care enough to want Burr to suffer for his sins. A wise man would let the matter die there. But Burr was not and had never been a wise man, and when John walked passed him to get the beers, he caught his arm.

“John. If I hear any word of Hamilton spreading rumours, I will not hesitate to defend my honour by whatever means are necessary.”

“You hate duels,” John pointed out, recognizing the threat for what it was. “You get a pinched look on your face whenever I bring them up.”

If that was true, Burr would have to work on that. For now, there was no denying it. “Yes. Duels are the product of immature fools with more pride than sense, and you and I both know I am no marksman. I would prefer to avoid coming to that end - but if my hand is forced, I will not shirk from what must be done.”

For a long moment, John stared at Burr. If he was looking for signs of hesitation, he would find none. Burr had little doubt about his odds in a duel. In all likelihood, Hamilton would kill him, but at least Burr would have a fair chance at taking the man down with him. After a long pause, John sighed and patted his shoulder.

“You two are too alike for your own good. No rumours will spread. You have my word.”

Burr nodded and released John’ sleeve. If he was willing to give his word, that was enough for Burr. He let the matter drop. When John returned with two pints, he asked a question about some trivial matter. John took the opportunity and ran with it, leaving more dangerous topics of conversation well behind them. To Burr’s relief, the topic stayed in the past. John did not so much as reference the topic for the rest of the night. 

For the rest of the week, Burr avoided John like the plague. Now that his work had picked up, it was remarkably easy to do. John had not been his only successful recruit. The second meeting he had gone to had been a trap, but one so poorly orchestrated Burr had escaped without any difficulty. There would be no lingering danger from that mistake. Burr had taken care to ensure that any man who saw him that night had died.

The third contact had been better, but not outstanding. Burr had been met by a man more than twice his age, too sick to fight but eager to help the cause in any way he could. The man may have been useless in a firefight, but he would be invaluable gathering information and training fitter men to shoot. He was not what Burr had wanted, but he would not look a gift horse in the mouth.

The fourth contact was a woman. Her voluminous skirts traced a path where she walked through the pub with elegant grace. Even in a room full of men, she was taller than most. She took a seat opposite Burr and did not hesitate over any of the code phrases. Burr was transfixed. He had thought himself well-acquainted with the many kinds of women in the world, but he had never met a woman like this. She was, most likely, bait. The more she revealed about herself, the more certain he was of the conclusion. She did not hide the fact that her husband was a British officer; she stated it with a sort of pride, a smug smile twisting her lips as she offered their home as a base for the rebellion. It had to be a trap. Only a fool would trust her, Burr thought, and then trusted her anyway. 

The next morning, he slipped out of her bedroom at dawn. It was only when he stopped to kiss her goodbye that she whispered her name to him. Theodosia. The name haunted his thoughts for days. Burr was used to being the most intelligent person in the room, but in Theodosia, he had met his match. She was brilliant. She was fearless and stubborn, and Burr found himself forced to reevaluate his understanding of women. Theodosia soon became one of three great relationships of his life. She was the only one he could admit any lust for, although that was not enough to stop his desires for all three. Of the other two, one was a dear friend left in Canada. He may well have reciprocated Burr’s advances had he been there to make them, but he was not. It would be the height of foolishness to put such desires to paper, so Burr said nothing of it and ignored the subtle flirtations in the letters he received. 

The third person was John Laurens, and the less time Burr spent on that topic the better. 

As his network grew, it became increasingly apparent that Burr could not do this alone. There were too many leads to follow. He needed a lieutenant: someone who could organize and lead men in the field and educated enough to be of use in the office. Most importantly, his choice had to be fearless. Rebellion was a dangerous business. Burr made no guarantees that he or his men would live out the year. Engaging more fully in the world of subterfuge would only make his choice a bigger target. Burr spent three days considering his decision. He hemmed and hawed over the choice, the entire time despising himself for his indecisiveness. The choice was clear. By this point he had a dozen contacts, but the only man worth his salt was John. 

John delighted in his new position. Not only did he enjoy an increase in authority, but Burr finally let him recruit his friends as he was begging to do. It was the sensible decision. Mulligan brought with him an entire network of the Sons of Liberty, and Burr was pleasantly surprised to find Hamilton could be useful when his ire was pointed in the right direction. Neither of them would have listened to Burr, but when John spoke about the mysterious captain he worked with, they hung on his every word. Burr's orders were executed to the letter.

As useful as they were, they brought with them their own set of headaches. John complained at length about Hamilton’s whining. Hamilton had taken it as a personal insult that John would not reveal Burr’s identity. Even if he had, Burr estimated Hamilton would not have believed it. Although they were on friendly terms, Hamilton did not miss an opportunity to mock or tease Burr for his silence on the issue of the revolution. When not teasing him, he tried to recruit him to the cause. The irony amused Burr. It was enough to make him hold his tongue, no matter how badly he wanted to gloat. 

He could not set Hamilton straight, so Burr entertained himself by playing into what Hamilton expected. It frustrated John to no end. When he was not complaining that Hamilton ought not be so rude, he despaired at Burr’s habit of stringing Hamilton along. It was a game Burr played often. They would go out to drink, and invariably the conversation would turn to the revolution. The conversation would turn to debate. As soon as that happened, it was the beginning of the end. Hamilton would take it upon himself to persuade anyone within earshot that his stance was the only stance that was acceptable. The topic did not matter. Hamilton had opinions on everything from military strategy to long-term political goals. 

Tonight, his topic was military action. After months of talking and talking, Hamilton and his friends had taken the plunge and enlisted in their local militia. John had been proud of them. Burr viewed them the same way he viewed all militia men: with a delicate balance of contempt and fond indulgence. He looked at the militias the same way he did a small child trying on his father’s uniform. It was not an uncommon opinion. The Continental Army (both soldiers and officers) looked down on the local militia. The reasons were many and varied, and some more justified than others. Local militias had caused chaos in battle more than once and had an unfortunate tendency to be overpaid and inexperienced. Militia contracts were short. As a result, the size of the revolutionary army fluctuated wildly - a fact which wreaked havoc on moral and made strategizing more difficult than it needed to be. Fairly or not, the blame was placed squarely on the shoulders of the unreliable militia. 

In short, there was not a single man in the Continental Army who viewed the local militia as his equal. And if nothing else, Burr was devoted to his army and the purpose it served. So when Hamilton began boasting about joining the militia, he had smiled. Hamilton had taken that as a sign of encouragement and promptly tried to recruit him.

“Not everyone has the right temperament for the militia,” he told Hamilton. “You won’t see me at your drills any time soon. In any case, I’m sure I couldn’t do the uniform justice.”

As they often did, Hamilton and his friends took Burr’s smug, mocking smile to be an appeasing gesture. As Hamilton redoubled his attempts to persuade him, Burr wondered if his jibe about the uniforms was crueler than it needed to be. The militia Hamilton had joined was dominated by students, and Burr attributed their poor uniform choice to their youth and inexperience. Their verdant green jackets looked better suited to parades than the battlefield. They were splendid enough in the sunlight, but Burr could not begin to fathom why they had chosen to cut them so tight. Arrogance, Burr suspected. He would choose the plain and dignified navy of the Continental Army over such blatant peacockery. As Hamilton boasted, Burr drank his beer and hid his laughter.

Even if Burr was content with the situation, John was not. His mouth settled into a hard line whenever he caught Hamilton and Burr bickering. John did not like them arguing, claiming that it did his head in trying to keep them from each other’s throats. He liked lying to his friend even less. When those two things combined, he struggled to keep an even temper. When Hamilton went up to the bar to get a drink, John leaned over and nudged Burr in the ribs.

“Hey. Lay off him a bit.”

Burr raised an eyebrow. “He’s the one pestering me. All I am doing is letting him speak.”

“I know your opinion on militias,” John insisted. Burr’s smile widened. 

“The local militias can be useful. I’ve never denied that.”

John snorted. “I’ve seen how irritable you get after dealing with them.”

“If you think my position is so unreasonable, then I’ll let you handle such correspondence henceforth.”

If Burr had said those words to anyone else, they would have been meant as an insult. Now it was a jest as much as anything else. His smile turned into a crooked smirk, and his eyes promised mischief as he stared over his pint. By this point, it was a look John recognized well. John's irritation evaporated and he let out an undignified snort of laughter. He shoved Burr’s shoulder. The action caused Burr to spill some of his beer, so he responded by elbowing John in the side. Before they could escalate it further, Hamilton returned with three pints and raised eyebrows.

“What’s this? Burr, what happened to all your disdain for ‘childish roughhousing’?”

Burr considered the tried-and-true argument of ‘he started it’, but before he could, John punched him in the gut. The blow was hard enough that Burr's breath left his body and he let out an involuntary grunt of pain. He heard a sharp inhale. When he fixed his glare on John, he found John’s expression crumpled in guilt. It had not been his intention to hit so hard, Burr surmised. Before John act on his obvious worry, Burr pulled a face at him.

“I hate you.”

The building tension vanished. If Burr had been truly angry at John, he never would have been so flippant. John started laughing, even as Hamilton protested that John had done nothing wrong.

“It’s fine, Ham,” John assured him. “Burr just has a particular sense of humour.”

Hamilton looked doubtful, but he made no more protests. The three of them settled back down into conversation. It was a pleasant enough evening, until the rest of John’s friends arrived. At that point Burr made his excuses (“I was taught not to keep a lady waiting,” accompanied by a sly wink and a thump on Hamilton’s back) and took his leave. There was only so much of their brand of revolutionary fire he could take. Any longer in their company would give him a headache. He would leave them to their carousing and rabble-rousing while he himself enjoyed a quiet evening indoors. 

A part of Burr still worried about their activities. He had hoped that John and his friends would exercise more caution now they were contributing to the revolution in a tangible way. If anything, it egged them on. John and Hamilton published new essays by the week, and Burr lost count of the number of times they started arguments in public. They rolled from one disagreement to another. But it did not cause him to regret his decision. As frustrating as their rebellious ways were, Burr could not deny he liked having John Laurens as his friend.


	3. Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit sexual content. If you are under the age of 18 or do not wish to see such materials, please leave this page.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos so far. Your support keeps me writing.

Burr knew there would be trouble the moment he set eyes on the new pamphlet. The title was provocative, although uninformative: “Proceedings of the Continental Congress”. He only needed to glance beyond the title page to divine the contents: more British drivel about the legitimacy of congress and the debt they owed to the King. Burr very nearly ignored the pamphlet and went on with his day, but something made him hesitate. The author would be reading his writing to the public. That itself was not an unusual move, but it did provide an opportunity for Burr to gather information. The only people who would go were staunch Loyalists or potential revolutionary recruits, looking to cause some trouble. Both were groups Burr needed to know about. So, despite knowing the speech would grate on his nerves, he made his way to the venue. 

Burr’s heart sank as soon as he set eyes on the crowd. He had been half right: the crowd was filled with passionate revolutionaries. His mistake had been in assuming they would not be people he had already recruited. Hamilton and his crew stood close to the speaker. None of them looked pleased. Even across the square, Burr could see them muttering amongst themselves and egging each other on. His lips thinned. They were going to do something stupid, he had no doubt. John and Mulligan would feed off each other’s enthusiasm until they felt confident enough to start a fight; or else Hamilton would seize the chance to run his mouth before they got the chance. The addition of the Marquis de Lafayette to the mix was like throwing oil on fire.

As Burr watched, Mulligan gave Hamilton an enthusiastic pat on the back and pushed him forward. The stubborn look on Hamilton’s face did not bode well for Burr’s plans to quietly eavesdrop. He glanced around. There were Loyalists in the crowd, too, even some off-duty soldiers he recognized. Almost worse, in Burr’s estimation, there were some people who seemed curious to learn what the speaker had to say. He looked back at Hamilton. Hamilton may have had the capability to be persuasive, but the from the stubborn look on his face he was about to take a more combative form of argument. As entertaining as it may be to watch, it would only serve to alienate the undecided. With a sigh, Burr stepped into Hamilton’s path. Knowing Hamilton as he did, he made his pleas for silence as complimentary as possible. The compliments and kind advice about timing seemed to work: Hamilton faltered. Burr watched with satisfaction as he retreated to his friends. Disaster averted, he turned his eyes back to the speaker. 

A minute later, a hand appeared on Burr’s elbow. Burr took a moment to compose himself. After a deep breath and a silent prayer to the Lord for patience, he turned to face the man bothering him. He expected to see Alexander gearing up for another fight. Instead, he was greeted by John's familiar freckled face and broad grin. The tense irritation that had gripped Burr's chest melted away, and Burr felt his own tightly controlled expression relax into an easy smile. Seeing John was a relief. Even if they were at cross purposes, dealing with John was infinitely more pleasurable than dealing with anyone else.

Before Burr could ask him what he wanted, John slid an arm around his shoulders and led him towards the edge of the square. Burr found himself following without protest. As they walked, John talked animatedly about his plans for the city. His hands swept broad strokes throughout the air as he sketched out a map of when and where he wanted to set up secret supply caches and cleverly disguised strongholds. Every now and then, his eyes slid back towards the speaker. The reason was not hard to guess. Within seconds of Burr turning his back, Hamilton had scrambled over to the speaker and began his argument. Even trying to pay attention to John, Burr had not been able to block out the man's obnoxious and loud voice. 

After a few minutes of letting John ramble, Burr decided to interrupt. "You're trying to distract me."

"Is it working?" John asked. The grin on his face was filled with mischief, and Burr was not at all prepared for how it took his breath away. His heart swelled with affection. Although he kept his face neutral, John must have somehow detected his stupor, because he laughed. There was enough affection in the laugh to turn it from mocking to teasing, so Burr did not feel he could complain too badly. It was a pleasant laugh to listen to, even when he was the butt of the joke. 

"I knew it would. Do you want to know why?"

Against his better judgement, Burr nodded. John leaned in close, close enough that Burr could feel the warmth of his breath against his ear. Dropping his voice to a low murmur, John said, "Do you remember that night I asked if you were curious about broadening your horizons? I know the truth. You don't need to be curious about broadening your horizons. You've done it all before. You know exactly what's on offer, and you want it. You want me."

Warmth pooled in Burr's gut even as ice-cold terror ran down his spine. Neither were unfamiliar feelings, but never before had he felt them in such baffling juxtaposition. John knew. Both instinct and prudence screamed at Burr to run, but he stood frozen in place for reasons even he did not know. Perhaps it was the confusion, or the trust John had built over long evenings spent working together. Perhaps it was Burr's own foolish desire trapping him in place. Whatever the reason, he made no move to escape when John drew back. It would have made little difference: John kept one hand on Burr's arm. In any test of pure strength, John would beat him every time.

After taking a moment to steel himself, he looked John in the eyes. He expected to see anger, maybe disgust or hatred; at the very least, betrayal. Instead, the breath was stolen from Burr's lungs as John met his gaze with heat in his eyes. It was a look Burr had learnt to search for in other men. He had never dared to dream he might see it on John's face outside of his most private fantasies. Burr could not say how long they stood there. It was again John who broke the silence, his lips curling into a knowing smirk.

"Tell me I'm wrong."

The protest Burr wanted to say died on his tongue. He shook his head. The sly smile on John's face grew, turning almost predatory in a way that made Burr's heart pound with excitement. This was a huge mistake, and yet Burr could not wait for a chance to make it. He opened his mouth with the intent to say something enticing. Before he could get even a word out, he heard Hamilton's grating voice double in volume as he descended from arguments to base insults. Burr could not stop a wince. The only silver lining to the situation was the frustration evident in John's face when he, too, looked back towards Hamilton. If nothing else, it was nice to have an ally in his irritation.

As much as it pained him to walk away from John, Burr crossed the square and placed himself between the two quarreling men. There were not enough words in the English language to express the scale of Burr's frustration, but he kept his demeanor as calm and neutral as possible.

"Alexander, please."

The response from Hamilton was spirited and impassioned; Burr did not listen to a single word of it. For once, Burr's distraction turned out to be good fortune. While he was scanning the crowd for a glimpse of John, a flurry of red movement caught his eye. Burr did not stop to confirm his suspicions. Without bothering to explain himself, he shoved Hamilton roughly and pushed him out of the square. Hamilton's friends followed, heckling and arguing with him until they too noticed the approaching soldiers. Even the Marquis de Lafayette paled when he saw the numbers. None of them were men to back down from a fight, but there was a difference between taking a stand and suicide. With no arms and no plan, they would have been slaughtered if they tried to fight.

"How did you know they were coming?" Hamilton wanted to know.

"I pay attention to my surroundings," Burr said. Hamilton looked at him with suspicion, but Burr did not care. Instead he turned and said, "John, get them out of here. I have business to attend to."

"And what makes you think you can boss our John around, Burr?" Lafayette demanded. He stepped in front of Burr, raising an eyebrow. The position was designed to intimidate, and Burr wondered if it was intentional. For the first time, Burr understood the endless complaints of his senior officers about the arrogance of European noblemen. If Lafayette was considered one of the good ones, the rest must be truly insufferable. 

"Laff, it's fine," John said soothingly, patting his friend on the arm. "It's our little joke, right Burr?"

Burr bit back a sigh of frustration. These men would be the death of him. "Of course. I trust John understands me well enough not to take offense. If you will excuse me, gentlemen."

As John shepherded his friends away from the square, Burr turned back to integrate with the crowd and eavesdrop. He barely made it two steps before Hamilton's hand grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"You're going back," he said, his expression filled with betrayal and self-righteous rage. For all his self-proclaimed genius, Hamilton had not guessed at the reason for Burr returning. He assumed Burr was a traitor to the rebel cause. Burr met his eyes without flinching, secure in the knowledge that his motives were pure.

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Alexander."

When Burr stepped away, he did so without giving Hamilton a chance to answer. He could feel his eyes staring at his back as he walked back into the square as though nothing had happened.

In the center of the square, a stand was assembled by the soldiers. Once it was constructed, a representative of the king took centre stage amidst a cacophony of heraldry and trumpets. It was, in Burr's estimation, pathetic. If the man had anything of worth to say, his words should have been enough. All this fuss and fancy did was guarantee Burr would be incapable of taking him seriously.

As laughable as the entire display was, the speech was enough to make Burr's stomach turn in disgust. Nevertheless, he forced himself to stay. He memorized every word and every inflection. He paid close attention to the movement of troops around the square, particularly which squads looked tired or lazy and easy to fool. He watched the civilians, making a note of who looked on in approval and who struggled to hide their disgust. 

Afterwards, he lingered and passed polite conversation with two soldiers in attendance. It was not hard to get information out of the soldiers. A pleasant smile and sympathy for the horrors of military rations could get Burr a long way. The men had no reason to suspect Burr was anything less than sympathetic to the soldier's plight: he had, after all, just listened to the King's speech. It was not entirely untrue to call him sympathetic. He held no doubt the soldiers were his enemies, and he would kill them in a heartbeat with no regrets, but he was not so high-and-mighty as to think they were so different. Making war on an empty stomach was hard, no matter what side you were on. It was an easy enough topic to reach agreement on, but the conversation left a foul taste in Burr’s mouth. Burr may be good at his work, but that did not mean he enjoyed it.

It was not until the church bells rang the new hour that the soldiers left to return to duty. They did so with great fanfare, boasting about the importance of their work to Burr. One of the two tried to coax him into joining up with his local regiment, but Burr just laughed and waved them off. 

“I’m a terrible shot,” he told them with a grin. “Believe me, you don’t want me wasting His Majesty’s resources. But if I see you fine gentlemen at the tavern, I’ll be sure to buy you a round as thanks for your service.”

The promise of free beer was enough to ease their grumbling, and the two men marched off. Burr followed. He did so from a distance, hiding amongst groups of people shopping and lingering around corners. What the men had been talking about had sounded important, and he intended to find out precisely what they were up to. They marched a quarter mile before the pair split. Burr cursed under his breath. After a moment of internal debate, he followed the younger of the two. Despite his youth and inexperience, the man had shown more intelligence than his companion: more importantly, he had shown more patriotic fervour. Youth and blind loyalty were a potent mix. If Burr had been their commanding officer, he knew who he would have favoured with important work. 

Burr never found out if his hunch was right. The young soldier whistled an English marching tune as he walked down a lane. A shadow darted into the lane a few feet ahead of Burr and advanced on the man. His footsteps were silent, and Burr’s eyes were drawn to the way the afternoon sunlight reflected off the knife the shadowy figure held on one hand. In one smooth movement, he put one hand over the soldier’s mouth and slid the knife between his ribs. The whistling cut off . It was a clean kill, Burr noted with approval, if damnably inconvenient. He considered making his presence known. It was hard to see in the shadow of the alleyway, but from the height and gait of the murderer, Burr suspected he knew who it was. He would have to have words with Laurens about the risks of not checking his surroundings before taking on such a gruesome task.

Burr spent the rest of the day frustrated and ill content. He would now never know if the young soldier might have led him to something of use. Whether it was his mood or some poor fortune, every little thing from that moment forth seemed to go wrong. He tripped over his own feet on his way to the market only to find the recent rain had ruined one of his dead drops. His inkpot spilled in his pocket. The shop had sold out of his favourite colour of ink, and when he finally got around to his letters there was nothing of any real interest to him. There was plenty of work, and fresh orders from his general, but no personal correspondence. He had been hoping for a letter from his friend Bellamy in the army. The Continentals were not faring well up north, and Burr had begun to fret that something dreadful might have befallen his friend. Even a curt letter would have been welcome. Or, if he was not given a note from Bellamy, he would have welcomed correspondence with Theodosia. She was a singular woman. Despite Burr's initial hesitations, she had proved to be a devout revolutionary and an effective agent - to say nothing of the effect she had on Burr himself. He had become a regular guest in her bed, and he counted himself lucky for it. 

By the time evening fell, Burr's temper was running short. For all the hours he had spent working, he had little to show for his efforts. A headache had started to settle behind his left eye as the evening wore on. Burr suspected it had something to do with the tension in his neck. It had been a long day, and tomorrow promised to be even longer. He trudged back to his accommodations with a heavy heart. As badly as he longed for rest, he knew if he slept the morning would come all too soon.

Burr's accomodation was not luxurious. When it had become clear he was to remain in New York for the foreseeable future, he had moved from the inn to a small apartment near the university. He had a bedroom and a small office, but the bathroom was shared with other apartments on the same hallway. The fireplace was enough to keep him warm in winter, but it hardly counted as a kitchen. He relied on the local pubs for food. As small and plain as the apartment was, it did everything Burr needed it to do. Best of all, it was located upstairs at the very end of the hallway. Burr was the only person to ever venture that far down the hall. His daily routine was so predictable that he had worn a path in the dust down the route he followed each morning and evening. The other half of the hallway was left shadowed in dust.

It took Burr all of three seconds to notice the dust had been disturbed. It had not been swept away. If it had, he might have dismissed it. Instead, it had been scattered this way and that by the passage of someone walking down the hall. Burr paused in the hallway to consider his options. Someone (or several someones) were waiting in his quarters. He had told no one where he lived. Whoever was there had found him against his will, a fact that did not bode well for him. 

In the end, curiosity got the better of him. Even if there was a trap waiting for him at the end, it would be better to know exactly who had tracked him down. That was not to say he proceeded recklessly. He took the time to load his pistol and make sure his knife was within easy reach before advancing down the hall. He burst into the room in one flurry of movement. As his door opened, he lifted his pistol to point at the first out-of place figure he saw. 

"Is that how you normally treat guests?"

Burr stared dumbly. John Laurens sat at his desk, legs stretched out in front of him. Despite the pistol pointing square at his chest, he grinned at Burr. After a moment to glance around, Burr lowered his gun.

"How did you know where I lived?"

John laughed. "All that time spent encouraging me to be quiet and patient, and you never considered that I might use it against you?"

Burr said nothing. He stood still and silent as John got to his feet and prowled around the room. Burr did not turn when John stepped behind him. The door clicked shut, but he did not turn to look. He knew John was still behind him, watching . The floorboard squeaked when he stepped towards Burr, coming to a halt close enough that Burr could feel the warmth of his breath on the back of his neck. Burr's heart was pounding. It took him a moment to realize the response was not fear, but something much more dangerous. Behind him, John leaned in to murmur into his ear.

"I wondered if I'd ever get through to you. You spend all that energy restraining yourself. Wouldn't you like to spend it on something else for once?"

A small noise escaped from the back of Burr's throat when John nipped at his ear. He took a deep breath to steady himself. Once he had something resembling control, he turned and looked John in the eye.

"This is a mistake."

"Then tell me to go."

If Burr were a better man, with better control of his impulses, he would have. Instead he moved forward, pushing John as he went. If John had tried to resist him, Burr would have struggled to win, but John did not fight. He grinned as Burr pushed him up against the door, bright and savage and perfect. Burr could not help himself. With John still pressed to the door, he leaned in and kissed him. It was not a gentle kiss. John was not a gentle man, and Burr would have been disappointed if he had not met Burr's affections with the same energy he met everything else. His hands grasped at any part of Burr he could reach, grabbing and squeezing anything that took his fancy - first clenching in his shirt, then reaching for his thigh and ass. Sharp teeth bit into Burr's lower lip. The sweet sting of pain startled a gasp from him, and John pressed his advantage, sliding his tongue into Burr's mouth and his knee between his thighs. Burr welcomed all of it.

It took all his self control to limit himself to one sinful roll of his hips against John's thigh before turning his attention to more pressing matters. His fingers scrabbled at John's cravat. Haste made him clumsy, but it was still only a few seconds before he had it free. The newly bared skin on John's neck provided too great an opportunity to pass up. Burr attached his lips to his neck, biting and sucking in equal measure. He paid close attention to what John liked. His goal was to keep John unbalanced, so overwhelmed by pleasure that he would let Burr take any liberties he pleased. Any time he found something that made John moan or tilt his head back or grind his hips against him, Burr memorized for later use. Whenever John recovered enough to try the same on Burr, Burr fell back into the movements he knew John had liked and repeated them until he had the man panting and desperate once again. He grinned against John's skin. This was everything he loved about sex with men. The hard lines of John's body pressed back against Burr's own. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. There was an argument here, one that Burr did not intend to lose.

He did not pull back until he had pushed John's coat and shirt to the ground, leaving him in only an undershirt and breeches. Burr ached at the sight of him. Without proper clothing, Burr could see the hard lines of John's body under the thin layer of cloth. John must have known the effect he had on Burr, as he gave him a filthy grin and reached down to palm his length through his breeches.

"See something you like?"

"I'd like it more if you were naked."

John laughed with delight. He obliged in part, removing his shirt and leaving his chest exposed to the warm night air. "So this is what it takes to make you forward. I'll keep that in mind."

"There's no benefit in being coy here," Burr said. He put his hands on John's hips, steering him towards the bed. He tried not to be distracted by the smell of sweat and gunpowder that clung to John like the sweetest of perfumes. "It's just us. No rank, no obligations. Just desire."

"Then what do you desire, Burr?" John asked. The words were not the challenge he had come to respect from John. They came out as a silky purr, carrying with them the promise of desires fulfilled. It was obvious John knew the effect he had on Burr. He swaggered across the room towards the bed, knowing Burr's eyes were tracking his every move. "You want me naked, but what then? You want my cock?"

Maintaining eye contact with Burr, he sat on the edge of the bed and spread his legs invitingly. The grin on his face was lascivious as he ran a hand down his chest. "Or did you have something else in mind? It's been too long since I've gotten a good fuck."

Under ordinary circumstances, Burr would have jumped on the opportunity. It was the perfect chance to seize what he wanted, with consequences and deals and bargains to be worked out later. But John met his eyes. That was what did him in. Burr’s expression pinched, and he could not bring himself to follow the usual script. Whether or not it was convenient, John was his friend. There were precious few people Burr considered close enough to count as friends, and John had earned the title a hundred times over. Burr refused to take advantage of that bond now.

“Don’t you think we’re past this game? Do you really expect me to believe you’d just - volunteer?”

The grin on John’s face faded. He sat up straighter, closing his legs for balance as he did so. “You mean you wouldn’t?”

“I’ll do my part,” Burr said steadily. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

“That’s not what I meant,” John said. He patted the spot on the bed beside him. After a moment of hesitation, Burr took the hint and perched on the very edge of the bed. Despite this being his home, he felt unbalanced. John somehow had the upper hand. It baffled Burr, and he would admit to himself (if no one else) that it frightened him. He trusted John, but he could not understand why he seemed more at ease in Burr’s bed than Burr himself. When Burr sat, John reached out and clasped his knee.

“You have done this before,” he said. 

Burr nodded.

“Both ways?”

Another nod. A frown tugged at the corner of John’s mouth as he studied Burr’s face. At length, he said,

“You know it’s meant to feel good, right?”

Burr laughed. “Come on, John, you know me. I’m not some naive stranger you need to coax into bed. The rest is good enough that I can endure some discomfort when it’s my turn: you needn’t worry about not getting your pleasure. I know how to play my part.”

“What if there is no part to play?” John asked. He pressed a kiss against Burr’s lips, so sweet and distracting that Burr nearly forgot their disagreement. He chased John’s lips when he pulled back, only to be stopped by John’s hand on his chest. “I’m going to tell you some things to enjoy. I want you to tell me if you enjoy them to.”

That sounded easy enough. Burr had some lingering suspicions, but he was willing to be distracted if it meant John kept kissing him like that. He nodded. He was rewarded with a wicked smile and a kiss with plenty of tongue. When John pulled back, he was panting slightly.

“I like kissing men.”

“Agreed,” Burr said without hesitation, pulling him in for another kiss. The pair were distracted for quite some time, so much so that Burr almost forgot their game. It was only when he started to grind his hips against John’s thigh that John broke away.

“Mm, I love it when you rut against me like that. You look so good,” he murmured. He adjusted their positions a little so that Burr’s thigh slipped between his legs, then lifted his hips up so that his dick rubbed against Burr’s thigh. “I like it like this, too. I could get off just like this.”

John waited until Burr nodded in agreement before continuing. He pulled back enough for Burr to strip naked. Once bare, Burr pressed back to John's side and pressed a hungry, open-mouthed kiss to his lips. John slid a hand between their bodies and wrapped his fingers around Burr’s length. Burr let out a low groan, thrusting into his grasp. Even dry, the friction was enough to draw a drop of precum from the head of his dick. John’s thumb swiped over the head, and Burr heard a laugh. He blinked up at John, trying to gather his scattered thoughts.

“I said, I like jerking men off. All it takes is a few strokes and I have them panting against me, all hungry and desperate. Lending a friend a hand is so much better than taking care of things alone, don’t you agree?”

At Burr’s frantic nod, John chuckled. He reached his hand further back and rolled Burr’s stones in his hand, relishing the gasp. “And this, do you -”

“For God’s sake, John, yes.”

The next thing Burr knew, John’s lips were trailing a hot path down his jaw. Filth continued to pour from his lips, and the entire time his hand pumped Burr’s length. 

“I like using my mouth, too. I like kissing - biting - “ (he was obliged to stop for a moment when Burr made an undignified noise in response to John doing just that) “- all of it. You know what my favourite thing to do with my mouth is?”

Burr suspected he did. His foresight did not spare him from the sharp pull of pleasure in his gut when John continued.

“I like sucking dick. Love it. The taste, the feel, all of it. Next time we’re encrypting letters I’m going to suck you off, see how far you can get with the code when you’ve got your cock in my throat. Bet you won’t be so composed then. I want to see you lose it.”

Burr’s head fell back. The back of his skull connected with the wall beside his bed, and he had just enough of his wits left to wonder when he had moved. He had his back against the wall now, his clothes abandoned at the foot of the bed. John had straddled his hips. One hand was pressed into the wall beside Burr’s head while the other stroked his dick, and all the while John looked at him with a wicked, sinful grin. He stopped his hand. Burr made a sound of protest, rocking his hips up into the still circle of John’s fingers. It was only when he caught sight of John’s raised eyebrow that he realized what was expected of him. He swallowed a sob. Humiliation and pride warred in Burr’s chest, but the desire to be touched won out. 

“I like it, to.”

The words came out small and shameful, but John rewarded him as though he’d proclaimed the words with the same shameless pride John had. John’s mouth was hot against Burr’s as he started up a new rhythm with his hand. Burr’s heart pounded in his chest. John was moving faster than Burr normally did with himself, but he was beginning to see the appeal of speed. It was only once Burr was panting and writhing against him that John slowed down. He met Burr’s eyes again.

“I like getting fingered.”

Ice seized Burr’s chest. John’s hand had stopped moving, a fact for which Burr could only be grateful. He was not sure how he would have coped with both dread and pleasure flooding his senses at once. 

“I like feeling men’s fingers inside me, stretching me out. Love it when they press against that spot - you know the one?”

Burr swallowed heavily. He knew how this game worked. He should say yes, tell John he loved it all and beg for his dick. John was clearly uncomfortable with anything less, and Burr liked to think of himself as a considerate partner. He would do what it took to please his lover. But this - even if he had tried to lie, he suspected John would have caught him. After a moment of internal debate, he shook his head. 

“Yes. I know - I’ve heard of it.”

The intensity in John’s face softened. “Never felt it?”

The shrug Burr gave was aiming for nonchalant. He suspected it came off as awkward, but he maintained there was no way to avoid the situation being awkward. His friend had his hand on his dick, asking if Burr if he wanted his fingers up his ass. No matter how dear of a friend John was, such things would always be awkward. Sex was awkward. It was only the mutual desire that pushed the participants past the awkwardness so they could continue. 

When Burr shook his head, something akin to understanding entered John’s expression. He reached with both hands and touched Burr’s cheeks. His lips were soft as he pressed kisses against Burr’s face: first his forehead, then his nose, and finally a slow, tender kiss to his lips. When Burr thought about it, John’s expression was not entirely dissimilar to pity. Pity was not the dominant emotion there, but he was certain that some part of John felt sorry for him. For the first time, Burr allowed himself to consider the idea that some men might genuinely like getting fucked. The thought went a long way to ease his guilt over past lovers. If their enjoyment had been genuine and not just a show for Burr’s benefit, then he did not need to feel quite so guilty about his promiscuous habits. 

“Will you let me show you?”

The curiosity and consideration Burr had started to entertain shut off. Of course. He knew better than this. It was all just a long, convoluted ploy to ease John’s guilt over the discomfort he was about to cause. Burr himself had played the same game many times, coaxing men to beg for his cock so he could pretend he was wanted. He had never been able to bring himself to take someone who had not asked for it: he liked to feel wanted. John clearly felt the same. Now that he understood, Burr knew what to do. He spread his legs and smiled as invitingly as he knew how.

“You don’t have to ask.”

Much to Burr’s confusion, John frowned. He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss against Burr’s lips before settling between his thighs.

“Burr. Listen to me. I don’t want you to lie. Do you trust me?”

That much Burr could agree to. He nodded without hesitation, earning him a kiss on the cheek.

“Good. Now, here’s want I want to do. I want to take it nice and slow, get you used to the feeling of someone playing with your ass. If you don’t like it, you tell me, and you get to decide what happens from there. If you want to stop, we stop. You want me to suck your dick, I’ll do that. But I need you to be honest with me. Can you do that?”

It was a good question. Burr was not certain he could promise that, even if he wanted to. And yet he had not been lying when he had said he trusted John. He was an honest man to the point of foolishness - brash and excitable, but earnest and well meaning. If he said Burr would like his plan, Burr had no doubt John believed it. Burr did not believe it, but he wanted to believe it. John had put his all into this. All that chaotic, violent passion had settled into a single goal: convincing Burr. It was intoxicating. The look in John’s eyes made Burr’s head spin, and he found himself nodding. Even if it hurt, he thought, if John kept looking at him like that, it might just feel good. 

He was rewarded with a brilliant smile and a passionate kiss. He let himself get lost in the pleasure of the moment. Instead of fretting about what was to come, he focused on the feel of John’s tongue sliding into his mouth and his hands skimming down his side. This was already unlike the times he had been taken in the past. Despite his strength, John kept his touch light and teasing until Burr was panting with want. John rolled his hips, rubbing his cock against Burr’s thigh. The sheets turned damp with sweat beneath him and Burr groaned. He sank his teeth into John’s neck, leaving a trail of dark bruises sucked and licked the warm skin. 

Burr could not help but tense when John coaxed him to lift his hips up. Anxiety settled into his belly. He could feel fear surging under his skin, and he hoped John would not notice his erection wilt. He braced himself for the feeling of one or more fingers pressing against his hole, but the dreaded pressure did not come. Instead, John rubbed soothingly over his skin. The sensation came as a surprise to Burr. It was not enough to make him comfortable, but the pleasant touch did help settle his nerves. 

When John’s hands moved down to rub at his thighs, he no longer felt so flighty. He liked his thighs being touched more than he liked to admit. John would alternate the gentle rubbing with scraping his blunt nails down Burr’s skin, making him hiss with pleasure. His thighs parted without conscious reasoning. That earned him a low rumble of approval from John in a voice so low it made Burr shiver. His reaction did not go ignored. John kept talking, murmuring praises against Burr’s skin as he scattered kisses over his back.

All the sweet words and gentle touches in the world were not enough to stop Burr from holding his breath when he felt John’s finger slip between his cheeks. He did not try to push in. Again he rubbed against the sensitive flesh a few times before spreading Burr’s cheeks apart. This, Burr supposed, must be what John had meant about getting him used to it. It was not so bad as he had expected. 

The next thing he felt was something warm and wet sliding against his hole. Burr gasped. It took him a moment to place the sensation, and when he did, he felt a flush of surprise and conflicted arousal. That was John’s tongue. John’s tongue pressed against the sensitive skin in long, luxurious strokes. It was unlike anything Burr had ever felt. With no reference to compare to, he had no choice but to judge it entirely on the feeling, and Burr could not deny it felt good. After several strokes, John curled his tongue and lapped circles: first starting wide, then circling in closer and closer. Once the circles could grow no smaller, John pulled back enough to talk.

“Still good?”

It took Burr a moment to find his voice. His mouth worked silently for a few seconds before he croaked out, “Why?”

“I want to make you feel good,” John said, as though it were really that simple. His fingers traced light circles against the inside of Burr’s thighs. “Is it working?”

Burr swallowed his pride and nodded. He caught a brief glimpse of John’s bright smile before his head disappeared back between Burr’s thighs. Burr lost himself in the sensations. By the time John reintroduced his fingers to the mix, Burr had quite forgotten to be frightened of the prospect. John’s fingers were slick with oil when he pressed against Burr’s skin. The observation surprised Burr, although perhaps it shouldn’t have. It did not take a genius to see John had come to Burr’s home with designs, and he had clearly come prepared. The thought made Burr whimper. Much to his disappointment, the sound made John pop his head up once again.

“Good sound, or bad sound?”

“John, I swear to God, if you stop...”

John laughed. He shifted his weight up on the bed, leaning one elbow against the wall so he could hover over Burr. They made eye contact, and Burr would swear the air had disappeared from the room. 

“Say it. Tell me you want this.”

All Burr knew was John. He was surrounded on all sides, by all his senses, overwhelmed in the best possible way. His hair had started to tumble loose from its typical bun, and the smell of sweat and gunpowder clung to his skin. This, Burr thought feverishly, was nothing like his previous experience. The usual swell of panic that accompanied the act was kept in check by the fierce look in John’s eyes and the heat that emanated from his skin. He was safe here.

“I want,” Burr told him, and hoped that would be enough. He did not know what he wanted; or, to be more honest, he did not know how to begin saying it. He did not know the words for half of what he wanted, and the other half carried too much shame. The only thing he was certain of was the overwhelming size of his hunger.

To his relief, that was enough. The grin on John’s face was made wicked by lust. His eyes fixed on Burr’s face as he pressed one finger into Burr’s ass. The entire time, he kept talking in that low, intoxicating rumble Burr loved so much. The words themselves did not penetrate Burr’s scrambled mind, but he appreciated the sound of John’s voice for both the comfort and the spike of arousal it sent through him. So long as he focused on John and only John, this was good. 

Before long, John returned to his place between Burr’s thighs. The feel of John’s tongue running around his finger was divine. Burr would have been content with that, but when John pressed his tongue inside beside his finger, his eyes rolled back in his head and he let out a low groan. He felt a puff of warm breath against his skin: John was laughing at him. It occurred to Burr that with a different partner, that might have offended him. As it was, all Burr could do was make another wordless sound of want and grind his hips back against John’s face. John obliged his silent request, sticking his tongue deeper and sliding in another finger beside it. 

Just when Burr thought it could get no better, John twisted and curled his fingers inside him. The first few probes did nothing, but then he found his mark. The firm press of John’s fingers against Burr’s prostate drew a loud cry from Burr’s mouth. Burr grabbed the sheets with both hands, as though hanging on would help him make sense of the unfamiliar pleasure. 

After that, Burr lost all sense of the passage of time. He allowed himself to be swept away by pleasure and trusted John to see him through it. Any protests or suspicions had long since fled his mind. John had meant every word when he had said it would feel good: any fears or hesitations that tried to rise up came from Burr, not the act itself. That was easier for Burr to deal with. His own feelings could be managed and controlled, or at the very least put aside for later so he could focus on the pleasure flooding his body. 

John removed his mouth from the mix to better work with his hands. Once again he shifted his weight up the bed, leaning over Burr so he could watch him. Once again Burr was surrounded on all sides, drowning in John’s scent and warmth and the never ending waves of pleasure he wrought with his hands. The entire time, John watched Burr squirm and moan with an almost predatory hunger. It was a look Burr knew well. He had worn it himself many times with his sexual conquests, but he had never thought to see it directed at himself. Instead of pricking at his pride as he felt it should, it filled Burr’s belly with heat and his chest with a light-hearted glee. Finally, all John’s energy and passion was directed where Burr wanted it.

John’s voice rolled over him, and it took Burr a moment to realize he had been asked a question. He stared up at him in confusion. His expression must have expressed his bafflement, because John laughed and kissed him again. When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead against Burr’s. 

“I asked if you wanted me to fuck you.”

Burr’s body ran hot and cold all at once. Both terror and pure, liquid pleasure flooded through his veins. Burr shook his head: not in denial, but to try and clear the dizziness from his mind. He took a moment to consider his options. He could say ‘no’. He had no doubt that if he did so, John would be true to his word and not protest. That knowledge brought more comfort with it than Burr had expected. It made the alternative sound like a choice, not an inevitability. And as for the prospect of saying ‘yes’ - well, if it was a choice, why shouldn’t he? Burr had nothing to lose. Now that he knew how good John’s fingers felt, he could not help but wonder at how it might feel to have his entire length inside him. Burr could satisfy John and his own curiosity with just a word. He rolled his hips once, relishing the way the movement caused John’s fingers to shift inside him. Yes, he decided, he wanted this.

Disappointment had started to creep over John’s face at Burr’s long silence, but Burr knew how to remedy that. With a sly smile, he wrapped a leg around John’s waist and pulled him closer. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

After that, things happened remarkably quickly. Burr watched as John poured the slick oil he had brought over his length. He was more liberal with the oil than Burr normally was, and Burr wondered if that was as a concession to Burr’s inexperience or simply John’s habit. Either way, Burr was grateful for it. The burn Burr remembered from past experience was there when John pressed in, but it was not as dreadful as he remembered. There was pleasure as well as pain. It did not feel like John’s fingers, but Burr supposed that made sense. He was taking one solid girth all at once, firm and hot and entirely different to the way John’s fingers had twisted and curled inside him. As different as it was, it did not take Burr long to decide he liked it. The pain faded as his body adapted, leaving only pleasure behind. And of course, there was John above him, panting and sweating and not half as in control as he had been a minute ago. That sight alone would have been enough to make Burr’s head spin. 

“Still good?” John asked. His hands were shaking where they held Burr’s hips. It was only when Burr gave him an affirmative response that he started to move. The rhythm he set was slow and cautious. It was enjoyable enough, Burr supposed, although he had preferred the relentless push of John’s fingers. Nevertheless, he let himself relax into the gentle pleasure. He rolled his hips back against John and made encouraging noises whenever John seemed to need them. For the first time, he had enough presence of mind to think of his own dick. He reached down to tease himself with long, slow strokes, matching the gentle ebb and flow of pleasure.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself,” John observed. Not for the first time that night, Burr cursed his taste in men. He would have been much better off with a pretty idiot. He smiled as seductively as he could and pressed a kiss to John’s mouth. Lies had not worked on him before, so he would stick closer to the truth.

“It’s nice,” Burr said, and he meant it. “I like it.”

“Burr. You promised me the truth.”

“That is the truth,” Burr protested. John stopped all movement, and Burr made a small sound of protest in the back of his throat. It may not have been everything he had wanted, but it had been something. He shifted restlessly beneath his partner. Maybe, if he could just get the angle right - but no, before he could put his half-formed plan into action, John put his hands on his hips and held him still.

“No. I’ll give you what you want. All you have to do is look me in the eyes and tell me.”

“You’re holding back,” Burr said, the words short and curt. He disliked being provoked into such an open statement. He disliked arguing during sex even more, but if this was the only chance to get what he wanted, he would take it. “It’s pathetic. I saw how you were looking at me before, and I know you, John. You’re a good man, but you’re not this patient. You want more. You took due care where it was necessary, and I commend you for that, but the time for caution is past. I want you. If you’re going to sodomize me, do it properly.”

John let out a huff of laughter and pressed a kiss to Burr’s forehead. “Only you could turn ‘fuck me’ into a character analysis.”

To Burr’s frustration, John pulled out. He rearranged them both on the bed, sliding a pillow under Burr’s lower back. It was not until he bent Burr’s leg back towards his chest and repositioned himself that Burr realized this was not an end. This was the calm before the storm. His heart pounded in anticipation, and he spread his legs wide. 

From the minute John pressed in, Burr knew this was different. The slide in was faster, and when he was fully seated John did not stop. The first rough thrust punched a wounded sound from Burr’s chest. He did not have time to recover before the next thrust, or the next, until Burr realized there would be no recovery. John had taken him at his word. He was pouring all his turbulent, violent energy into this, and the mere thought of that made Burr’s dick ache with pleasure. Each thrust pulled a small grunt of pleasure from him. He did his best to encourage the new pace, rocking his hips back against each thrust. 

It was not long before Burr’s mind turned to his own dick, and he reached for his cock again. John swatted his hands away. “Not yet. Wait for me.”

Burr whimpered, but he nodded in agreement. He could wait. There was plenty to enjoy in the meantime. He found he liked everything about the situation, from John sweating and moaning above him to the hard pressure in his ass. He understood the reason for the pillow, now. With the new angle, John’s dick pressed against Burr’s prostate each time he pressed in, drowning Burr in wave after wave of pleasure.

Despite his resolve, he nearly cried with relief when John wrapped his hand around Burr’s dick. The combination of two different pleasures was exquisite. A beautiful flush had started to spread over John’s chest, and he had lost some of the rhythm of the movement. Burr could not complain: even if they were irregular, each thrust had enough power to make the bed shake beneath him. It was all too much for him. Burr came with an embarrassingly loud wail. The intensity of his orgasm astounded him. For a few seconds, the world faded into white as Burr’s entire body shook with pleasure. When he returned to his senses, John had gone still above him. A few moments later he pulled out. Burr felt a curious warmth spreading between his thighs, and on instinct he reached down to see what it was. It was only when he saw the white fluid on his fingers that he realized it was John’s seed leaking out of his ass. Mortified, he fled to the basin in the corner to clean himself. He could feel John’s eyes on him the entire time. 

It was only when he returned to the bed that John seemed to relax. He put a hand on Burr’s knee and looked at him with concern. “Still good?”

“You convinced me,” Burr assured him, and sealed the words with a kiss. “What a glorious mistake. If we continue this -”

“Mistake?” John interrupted. He sat bolt upright on the bed, looking entirely too stressed and fearful for someone who had just had sex. “Hold on a moment. What do you mean, if?”

“It is common for these dalliances to be temporary,” Burr said. He kept his tone neutral. Even if he hated the truth, he would not deny it. “Anything else is dangerous. Foolish.”

The look on John’s face tore Burr’s heart from his chest. It was almost a relief when John’s expression shifted from betrayal to cold anger. He flinched when John reached over him to snatch up his clothes. Burr could not bring himself to watch as he dressed, nor when John stood in the center of the room and stared at him. Neither of them said a word. After the silence had stretched out long enough, Burr heard footsteps crossing the room. The door squeaked open, then slammed shut. 

He was alone.


	4. Liberation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unless anyone has any protests, I'm going to shift towards shorter chapters (3k+ instead of 6k+) so I can manage more frequent updates.
> 
> content warnings: violence, injury, etc. in line with the setting

A full week passed before Burr saw John again. The two of them ducked into the same safehouse, likely avoiding the same guard patrol. For a moment, Burr considered retreating. He would have better chances of winning over the Redcoats than John, and an execution was sounding like a more appealing prospect by the second. Instead, he bowed his head in acknowledgement and took a seat on one side of the room. John stood on the other side, fidgeting and restless and avoiding eye-contact at all costs. When the silence had stretched on too long for Burr, he spoke. There was only one thing he could say.

“I am sorry, John.”

“I don’t care.”

There was nothing Burr could say to that. John had no obligation to care about Burr’s feelings on the matter, especially when it had been Burr who had spectacularly mismanaged the situation. In the week that had passed, Burr had found plenty of time for introspection. He had come to the conclusion that the blame for the situation lay squarely on his shoulders. The had been a thousand and one times he could have averted disaster. He had taken none of them. He had let greed rule when prudence should have held him back, and when it had already taken him past the point of return, he had tried to reel things back. It had been too late. The damage to his relationship with John had been done. Regret was too weak a word for it: Burr's mistake was one he would never forgive himself for.

They spent fifteen minutes in silence. It was only when Burr got up to leave that John spoke.

“I need your help.”

Burr’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he inclined his head in John’s direction. “I am at your service.”

“I’ve heard rumours of revolutionary soldiers held captive at a fort just north of the city. A fort not on the maps”

“You want to stage a rescue,” Burr concluded. He had heard the same rumours. The fort was allegedly used as a prison for any patriots the British captured and provided them a rallying point dangerously close to New York itself. It was an obvious target. Burr had avoided it due to poor information and high risk, but John might be able to alleviate at least one of those concerns. He gestured for John to continue, and John set out what details he knew. The information John had did not fill him with confidence. The fort was tightly guarded and held a large garrison. Patrols were regular, and John had seen one of the squadrons socializing at a tavern: they would notice any outsiders in their midst. The only way in without detection was through the sewer. Burr balked at the very thought. Not only was the idea revolting, it was not strategically sound. Having only one escape route was a recipe for disaster, and he would be surprised if the secret entrance was as secret as John thought.

“It’s reckless. I admire your intentions, but launching a rescue effort is pure foolishness.”

“We could save lives. It’s not always bad to be foolish,” John argued. “There’s much to be gained. I’m not pretending there’s no risk, but it’s worth it.”

The words were as impassioned as always. It may have been a figment of Burr’s imagination, but he could have sworn the words held a new kind of stinging intensity John did not normally have. Whether or not they were meant to, the words wounded Burr. John may well have a point. There was an interesting philosophical point surrounding the nature of risk, and Burr wished things were still stable enough between them to discuss it. They were not, and Burr was left with only the practical point of what needed to be done. There was no chance of having a reasonable discussion with John and no hope of reasoning with him. Instead, Burr did something he did not often do. He gave up.

“You may be right. If you want my help, you have it.”

Not that long ago, the shock on John’s face would have made Burr laugh. As it was, it only made his heart ache more. He set his things down and stepped back into the room. Planning a mission of this scale would take hours, and they did not know what the English had planned for their captive brethren. Time was an important factor. The sooner they launched their rescue effort, the more likely it was they would find prisoners and not corpses. 

Despite their recent difficulties, Burr and John fell into their old routine with remarkable ease. There was work to be done, and the two of them made an effective team. Burr was pedantic. He picked away at ideas, not satisfied until he had pulled them apart, examined each piece and reassembled it. It was exasperating for people who worked with him, but it was a habit that had served Burr well. It was especially useful when people like John came up with grandiose plans. To John’s credit, he had the will and intention to follow his plans through, but without Burr’s methodical approach, it would not be smooth sailing. With Burr's input, the plan would be much safer.

Night had fallen by the time they had agreed upon a plan. As eager as John was to get started, he conceded that launching their offensive while drained and exhausted would do them no favours. Their assault would have to wait until morning when they had both rested. They parted without saying goodbye. Burr spent the entire evening trying and failing to get John’s face out of his head, and when he finally slept it was not restful. 

They met the next morning by a sewer grate, neither of them happy about their fate. Burr had done what he could to prepare for the mission, dousing a scarf in sweet scented oils and tying it around his face. It was not the most dignified look, but appearances were the last thing on his mind. The smell was still vile enough to make his stomach turn, but he was shielded from the worst of it. John had no such comforts. He had not thought to prepare himself for the journey, and Burr could hear him retching and choking back his disgust the entire way. More than once he vomited. There was nothing Burr could do but wait for him when he did, unsure if any comfort he could offer would be welcome.

The smell may have been the worst part of the journey, but it was not the only discomfort. The sewers were dark and dingy. Even with the flaming torch John had brought, the darkness seemed to close in around them. Wherever they went, there was the sound of dripping water. Worst of all were the sections where the path ran out, and they were forced to trudge through foul water. Any one of those inconveniences would have rendered the mission unpleasant. Combined, they formed a gold-plated guarantee that Burr’s mood was sour by the time they reached their mark. 

The exit they had chosen lay within the walls of the fort. A tiny courtyard near the walls was closed off on all four sides by the curve of the walls, the armory and the adjoining powder room. It was not designed for regular use: it served more as a drainage and garbage dump than anything else. The only way in or out of the courtyard was through a little corridor adjoining the powder room and the armory. Burr liked the situation less and less as the mission progressed, but there was nothing he could do. It was too late for second thoughts. They had come this far. They would leave either with new allies, or be tossed out as lifeless corpses. 

The prison stood five hundred meters away. Much to Burr’s dismay, it was well designed. There was very little cover for them to hide in as they advanced on the building, and the guard by the door looked alert. This would not be as simple as sneaking across to the front door and waiting for the guard to sneak off to drink and gamble. They would need to engineer a distraction. After a brief whispered debate, the pair agreed on a strategy. Burr was the stealthier of the two: he would work his way around the fort and create a distraction on the other side of the prison. Once the rest of the garrison was occupied elsewhere, the guard by the prison would be alone. John would have no trouble dealing with one man. 

The first part of the plan went off without a hitch. Burr took a small portion of gunpowder from the deposit and set it off near the captain’s quarters. It was not enough powder to be taken as a threat: frightening the guards was not Burr’s intention. Instead, he designed his trap to look like a prank. His estimation of the captain’s temperament was based on rumours, but his gamble paid off. The captain was incensed by his public humiliation. Every soldier not on active duty was called to the main courtyard so he could determine who was responsible (or, failing that, mete out some group punishments). The soldiers looked miserable as he shouted at them and cursed their lack of discipline. With the British occupied, Burr slipped away.

By the time Burr returned to the prison, John was inside. He busied himself with securing the area against the imminent return of the soldiers. If he had any luck at all, then the captain would be ranting and raving at his men for hours. If that was not the case, he would need to slow down any soldiers headed their way. Every minute of delay could be the difference between life and death.

As time stretched on, Burr began to fret. From the minute John had entered the prison, he had been alone. The odds were not in his favour. If there were many guards inside, or the locks too difficult, or even if he misjudged the timing of a regular patrol - if anything went wrong, John would be dead, and Burr would have no way of knowing. The thought terrified Burr. He had lost men on missions before, but he had never felt the overwhelming dread that filled him at the idea of losing John. 

The scheduled time for their rendezvous passed. Burr did not leave. Every second he lingered was a gamble, but he could not bring himself to abandon John. Whenever he tried, he imagined John returning to the courtyard to find Burr gone. He would die alone, surrounded by enemies and knowing Burr had not cared enough to stay. Burr could not risk that happening. He had just resolved to enter the prison himself when the door to the prison opened. John stepped out, followed by over a dozen men with a wide variety of injuries. When he saw Burr, he halted.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“We should have left ten minutes ago,” Burr agreed. “You’re late.”

John looked like he wanted to say something, but before he could they heard a shout. They had been caught. Burr clasped John’s arm.

“Get the prisoners into the tunnels. I’ll buy you as much time as I can.”

John nodded, and the two of them separated to do their tasks. Both of them made for the armory: Burr for weapons, and John to escape. Burr’s pistol was by his side, but the armory held better choices. He had hoped for a canon, but there were no heavy guns to be had - only rifles. Burr made do. If he wanted to pick soldiers off from across the courtyard, a rifle and bayonet would serve him better than a pistol. Once the last prisoner had limped through the door, Burr pushed a table up against it. The doorway was effectively blocked, but now Burr had cover he could duck behind and a free line of sight to shoot. He was not a very good shot, but he did not need to be. All he had to do was slow the advancing troops down. From the way the soldiers milled around just out of range, Burr estimated he had several minutes up his sleeve. None of them were willing to chance an advance without direct orders, even against just one man. 

“B - Captain! We’ve got to go.”

Burr glanced back towards John. He stood in the doorway out to the courtyard with their escape attempt, beckoning him. He looked back to the soldiers in the courtyard. His distaction had made some of the soldiers bold. A group of five had started to advance. It took three shots for Burr to take down just one of them, but it was enough to make the others retreat for now. He looked back at John and shook his head. It was ironic, he thought, that the one time John bothered to remember his title was the one time it wouldn’t matter. Even if the soldiers learnt his identity, it would make little difference at this point.

“You go.”

That should have been the end of it, but John stormed down the hall and pulled at Burr’s arm. “We have to leave. Now.”

“If I leave, they’ll follow us. There’ll be no chance of escape. I can buy you time.”

“I don’t want time, I want you.”

The agony on John’s face was too painful to look at. It made Burr confront what he was doing, and he knew he was too much of a coward to do that. It was easier to focus on the task. Aim, fire, duck down, reload, repeat. Burr took a deep breath and steadied his voice.

“I’ll follow if I can. I’ll meet you by the bakery tomorrow at dawn. If I don’t make it, you know where I keep my office. There’s enough money and resources there for you to take over this operation. For now, you need to get those men to safety.”

Aim, fire, duck down, reload. Burr waited on a response.

“I’ll see you by the bakery.”

If that was what John needed to tell himself, Burr could endure that. He watched as John retreated into the courtyard. It was only when the sewer grate snapped shut that he let himself face the full reality of the situation.

Burr was going to die.

That much was certain. Now that his fate was sealed, Burr felt panic begin to rise in his throat. For all their talk of reunions, both he and John knew the chances of Burr leaving the fort alive were slim to none. As soon as he left his post, the English would advance. Once in the sewers, his passage would be slow, and all his enemies had to do was get him in range of their rifles. The rescued captives would not have stood a chance if Burr had gone with them. It was best, then, that John had left when he had. If he had pushed Burr further, he did not think he would have had the will to remain, and then they would both have died. This way, at least John would be safe. Burr let his thoughts linger on John’s burning bright passion and the warmth of his mouth against his own. It was a shame he had not got another chance to kiss him before the end. 

It was past high noon when Burr started to run out of ammunition. Each time he reached into the bag and felt how empty it was a cold sweat broke out on Burr’s forehead. He did not want to die here. He especially did not want to die in enemy hands after enduring all kinds of indignities. His heart pounded in his chest, and Burr wondered if he might die of fear before the British ever got their hands on him. Desperate, he cast his eyes around the armory, hoping for more ammunition, a gun, _anything_ \- 

\- and saw the powder room. A new idea settled over Burr like a heavy cloak. It was a solution. The British would never get their hands on him, that was for certain, and in the same move he would wipe out their armory. They would be helpless when the Continental army came to take them down. It would be an honourable act. Burr could not control if he would die, but he could control how.

Decision made, Burr started to execute his plan. He chanced brief absences from his post so he could unlock the powder room door and roll several large barrels to the entrance of the armory. Whenever the soldiers relaxed and started to draw near again, he would fire until they retreated. They were no longer holding back out of fear. They had realized he would soon run out of ammunition and were simply biding their time. They shouted and jeered from across the courtyard. Some of them took aim at him despite the distance, and one of them got lucky: a bullet cut through his right arm. Burr leaned against the wall, gasping and clutching at the wound. The searing pain threatened to overwhelm him. It was only when he heard another shot ricochet over his head that he picked up his rifle and returned to work. 

Despite his resolve, Burr did not set off his trap at the first opportunity. He lingered, praying for some kind of salvation. Several times he pulled the tinder and flint out of his pocket and stared at it, and every time he replaced it with shaking hands. Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes. They were worse than useless, but he could not stop them from falling. Just when he had resolved to try again, Burr heard a sound that made his breath catch in his throat. The alarm bell rang clear and loud through the hazy afternoon air. He held very still, wondering if it was a hallucination. But no: one by one, the soldiers in the courtyard fell into line and marched for the front entrance. When the sound of footsteps cleared, Burr risked a look over the top of his barricade. Just six men had been left to handle Burr. 

Burr’s heart pounded in his chest. Six. He could take six, surely, and even if he couldn’t - well, John and the others would be long gone by now. If he failed, he would be the only one to suffer. His chances were not good, but they were better than they had been ten minutes ago. He would risk it. But as Burr turned to retreat, a thought seized him. Why not make use of the powder he had already laid? It was risky, yes: there was no guarantee he would not simply bring the whole sewer down on his head. But if it did not, Burr would be safe. He ran back to the powder room and filled a pouch with explosives. As he retreated towards the sewer gate, he laid down a trail of powder on the ground leading back to the explosives he had already set. Then, just before he slipped into the sewer, he lit his end of the trail. The first forty seconds or so after that were critical. Burr ran as fast as he could from the scene, paying no heed to comfort or cleanliness. His only goal was to get as far away from the rigged powder as possible.

When the explosion was triggered, the whole sewer shook. Parts of the ceiling behind him crumbled inwards. For one moment Burr stood there, paralysed in fear. He thought the ceiling was certain to fall and crush him, but it held firm. After several seconds, the shaking stopped. The ceiling above Burr remained intact, and the path ahead of him was clear. Burr breathed a slow sigh of relief. He had made it. Now all that remained was the long lonely trek back through the sewers to his own home.

It took several hours to pass through the sewer. It had been a long journey with John by his side, and it was even longer alone in the dark. Burr took several wrong turns. After coming to his third dead end, he began to despair of ever tasting fresh air again. Had he escaped his enemies just to die alone in the sewer? In the end, it was luck that had him stumbling out into fresh air. He stepped into not afternoon sunlight but cool evening air. The stars burned brightly overhead, and Burr had never held more appreciation for the night sky than in that moment. He put his hands on his thighs and bent forward a little, taking time just to breathe. Despite everything, he was alive.

Though he was out of danger, Burr could not rest yet. He had not come out of the sewer where he had planned. He was several miles to the north on the very outskirts of the city, and no way home but to walk. Burr's muscles ached and his body screamed for food and rest, but that would have to wait. It took every scrap of willpower Burr had to straighten up and start the long trek home. He received more than a few odd looks as he walked. Whether it was the open wound or the shit and filth that had stained his clothes in the sewer, Burr did not know, and did not care to ask. At first opportunity, he stole some clothes from a laundry line and disposed of his own clothes. His new outfit was rough and scratchy and more than a little large, but it did not stink of sewerage. Burr considered it an upgrade. He cut the legs shorter than was proper to fashion a rough bandage. It was the best he could do for his arm at that point. He could only pray his trip through the sewers had not contaminated the wound.

By the time he made it home, it was deep into the night. Most civilized folks had retreated into the warmth and safety of their homes, leaving only soldiers and roving bands of drunks to fill the streets. Despite the late hour, Burr took the time to bathe before retiring for the night. He filled the tub with hot water and scrubbed at his skin until it was raw. Once that was done, he drained and filled the sink. As gently as he could, he peeled back the makeshift bandages on his arm. His heart sank. The wound was not a pretty sight, and he could see (and smell) evidence that foul water from the sewer had made it into the wound. He washed the area to the best of his abilities before retreating from the shared bathing area. In his own rooms, he had makeshift medical supplies. It was not much, and Burr was no doctor, but he hoped it would be enough. He splashed alcohol on the wound despite the sting and bound it tightly with clean cotton bandages. Despite feeling nauseous, he forced himself to eat some dry bread and drank over a litre of water before finally he was at his end. He stripped naked and intended to put on his nightclothes, but instead he made the fatal mistake of sitting down. As soon as he was on the bed, he lost all will to leave it. All he managed to do after that was crawl under the covers and fall asleep.


	5. Medication

Burr was rudely awoken several hours later by a hurricane of noise and movement. Both of them caused pain, and Burr let out a low groan as opened his eyes to find out what chaos had consumed him now. He found himself staring into the face of John Laurens. There were deep bags of exhaustion under his eyes and his skin seemed dull, but his face was lit by sheer elation. He had, beyond all comprehension, knelt on the bed beside Burr and held him by his shoulders. That explained the shaking that had woken him up. Burr wondered if he should protest the rough treatment, but he could not find the energy to do so. John said something. The words missed Burr completely, so he stared up at John in numb confusion. No matter how hard he tried, he could not figure out why John was there. 

“I thought you were dead,” John said. From his tone, Burr guessed that he’d repeated the statement that Burr had just ignored. He shrugged a little.

“So did I.”

“We heard the explosion,” John said. He moved one hand to touch Burr’s cheek. The contact was strange, but Burr quickly decided he liked it. His mind was still tired and sluggish, so he did not think twice about leaning into the touch. But he found John's words confusing, and said so.

“I waited until you were gone.”

John nodded in agreement. “I rounded up some of the guys, started a riot, convinced them to storm the fort. I thought if we could just get through the front door - “ He stopped. His voice cracked when he said, “I thought you were caught in the blast.”

“It was you,” Burr realized, looking up at John in wonder. “You’re the one that drew them off?”

At John’s hesitant nod, Burr’s face split into a wide smile. He turned his face towards the palm of John’s hand and kissed the warm rough skin of his palm. “You saved me. I couldn’t have escaped without you distracting them.”

“I guess,” John said, but he still sounded uncertain. Burr blinked up at him with wide eyes and a small smile. There was not a single part of Burr’s body that did not ache, but that did not seem so dreadful now John was there. The cloying fogginess clouding his brain felt almost pleasant. The palm against his cheek shifted to his forehead, and a deep frown settled over John’s face. “You have a fever.”

Fear started to claw at the inside of Burr’s chest. How had he forgotten? He rolled onto his side so his injured arm was facing upwards towards John and picked at the bandages with clumsy fingers. John was no more a medic than Burr, but his movements seemed deft and smooth by comparison when he batted Burr’s hand away and undid the bandage himself. He only looked for a second before rebinding the wound. The look on his face said more than words ever could. Burr’s heart sank. He should have known better than to think he had escaped.

“I’m going to get a doctor. Stay here.”

The words made Burr want to laugh. In this state, where else would he go? Instead, he just nodded. Laurens pressed his dry and chapped lips to Burr’s forehead before slipping out of the room. For a long moment Burr lay still, contemplating his next move. As tempting as it was to roll over and go back to sleep, he did not like the idea of a doctor coming while he was in this vulnerable state. He forced himself out of bed. He managed to stay upright long enough to pull on his nightclothes, but his limbs shook with effort. White started to bleed in at the edges of his vision. Burr sat as soon as he was dressed, and once again that put an end to all his intentions. With the room still spinning and his body still claiming exhaustion, he gave himself over to sleep a second time. 

The next time Burr woke, John had a stranger with him. It took Burr longer than he liked to admit to remember the stranger was a doctor. Despite the exhaustion pulling at the corners of his consciousness, Burr forced himself to sit up and cooperate. No matter how hard he tried, Burr could not focus on the situation at hand. His thoughts were sluggish and confused, and anything too taxing made his head pound. After the third time he asked the doctor to repeat himself, the man shook his head and sighed. Burr’s heart sank when the doctor turned and addressed John instead. He may not have been able to think clearly, but he had enough sense left to judge that that was not a good sign.

Burr did not notice the doctor leave. He did not remember falling asleep, but he must have, because the next thing he knew was John coaxing him to wake up enough to manage some water. When he managed to drink a whole glass, John offered him a bowl of porridge. He managed less than half a bowl. His stomach rebelled at the tasteless gruel, but the water did make his head feel a little clearer. He turned his mind to business.

“There are encryptions I haven’t taught you yet. I should teach you,” he told John. He thought he could do it. He ought to do it while he still had time. Burr had no doubt that his fever would only get worse, so he had best make use of what faculties he still had while he had them.

“Tomorrow,” John said, and passed him another glass of water. “Just drink.”

The next day, Burr did not remember. The times when he woke throughout the day were few and hazy. Every time he woke, John was there. He was not always waiting by Burr’s side to help him: more than once, Burr caught him pacing the room restlessly or working at Burr’s desk with a snarl of frustration on his face. John was not a man who coped with being cooped up. For a few moments Burr felt guilty, but when hacking coughs gave way to vomiting, he had bigger things to worry about.

It was not until days later that Burr awoke with a clear mind. His head still ached and he felt as though his mouth had been stuffed with detritus, but he was very definitely awake. Moonlight filtered in through the open window, providing him just enough light to see by. There was a pitcher of water by the bed. Burr reached for it greedily and drained the entire jug dry. He considered lighting a candle and sitting up for a while, but decided against it: the light would only disturb John. John had set up a bedroll on the ground near the fire. Burr could hear him snoring, and he wondered what could have possessed him to stay the night. The obvious answer was that he had stayed out of concern for Burr, but that was ludicrous. John was angry at Burr, and rightfully so. It seemed absurd that John should inconvenience himself out of concern for him, but the evidence was there before Burr’s eyes. After all he had done for Burr, it seemed churlish to wake him in the middle of the night. The candle would have to wait. Burr would have to wait until morning to stretch his legs. He lay in the dark and stared at the ceiling until sleep took him once more.

By the time morning sunlight started to fill the room, Burr had fallen back asleep. When he woke again, the water pitcher had been refilled. Not only that, but a plate full of food had been placed by the bed: bread, grapes, dried meat and a hunk of hard cheese. A little further away Burr could see his favourite kind of sweet pastry, filled with jam and dusted with sugar. His stomach growled. He pushed himself up off his belly with both arms and stared at the food for a moment. The sound of a quill scratching against paper drew his attention, and he looked over to find John was still there, seated at the desk. Burr shifted over so he was sitting cross-legged on the bed. He could not remember much of the past few days (in truth, he was not even certain how many days had passed), but he every memory Burr had told him John had stayed. 

“John,” he said, but the word came out scratchy and hoarse. Burr crinkled his nose in frustration and reached for the water, hoping he would have better luck if he was less parched. John turned, despite Burr’s call sounding barely recognizable as his name. His expression brightened when he saw Burr sitting up.

“I’d hoped the water meant you were feeling better,” he said. “You should have woken me.”

“It was the middle of the night,” Burr protested. John snorted. He watched as Burr poured himself a glass of water and nodded with approval as he drained the jug. Before Burr could even think about getting up to refill it, John crossed the room and took it without a word. When he returned with the jug filled to the brim, Burr looked down at the floor in shame.

“You don’t need to do that for me,” he protested. It was not his intent for the words to come out hostile, but they did, and he winced to hear his own words. 

John laughed and squeezed his shoulder. “If you’re back to being prickly and arrogant, you must be on the mend. You haven’t had the strength to complain all week.”

“All week?” Burr echoed. The happiness faded from John’s expression. His laughing mouth settled into a somber line, and he nodded.

“Nearly a week. It’s been five days since you took down that fort.”

Five days. No matter how Burr wracked his brain trying to account for it, he could not string together enough memories to account for that much time. Disconcerted, he looked down at himself. After five days he should have been covered in filth and too delirious to do anything about it - if he was even alive at all. How long would he have lasted once the fever set in if he had been alone? One day? With no water by his bed and a high fever, it may have been even less. But not only was Burr alive, but he had been well tended to. His skin was clean, the bed clothes smelled fresh, and the room was warmed by a merrily crackling fire in the hearth. When he pointed this out to John, John just stared at him.

“Come on, Burr, you’re smarter than this.”

“Apparently not,” Burr said, frowning a little. John shook his head and took a seat on the edge of the bed. 

“The doctor said not to leave you alone. He said if you were to have any chance of recovering, you’d need constant attention - help with drinking, eating, keeping the wound clean. I brought my things over on the first day.”

Burr stared at him. “You stayed.”

“Yeah. You may be a dick, but that doesn’t mean I want you dead.”

A long silence descended over the pair of them. Burr drank his water, considering everything John had just told him. He thought of the long hours John must have spent tending to him. No matter which way one looked at it, John did not have a nurturing bone in his body. It was hard to imagine him managing even the more ordinary tasks, like helping Burr eat and drink. The very idea of John helping him to bathe was mortifying, but Burr had an awful suspicion that would not be the worst of what had happened. Worst of all, he had done all of that while still being angry at Burr. Despite his anger, John had shown him more loyalty than Burr had any right to expect. Guilt started to wrap itself around Burr’s heart again.

“I am sorry.”

John’s expression hardened. “For what?”

There was the tricky part. Burr hesitated. When he spoke, his tongue felt clumsy and loose, but he thought he did a fair job of conveying his intentions.

“I hurt you. I don’t understand how, but the fact remains that I did. That insult seems all the more egregious now that you have helped me through this past week. I want to make amends, if you will let me.”

“How can you?” John said bitterly. “You said it yourself. You don’t even know what you did wrong.”

A silence descended over the pair as Burr tried to solve the puzzle before them. His head ached. He could feel his pulse in his temple, aggravating the headache with each beat. No matter how he tried, he could make no sense of the situation. He would have to guess.

“Did you want me to struggle more?”

“Jesus, Burr, no,” John said. 

Burr was gratified to see he looked sick at the very idea. It was a game that Burr had always found distasteful at best, and it was a great relief to know he had not mistaken John’s character so badly. But it did not bring him any closer to understanding what he had done wrong. Before he could try again, John picked up the plate of food and set it in front of Burr.

“Just shut up and eat. If you keep that down, I can get you something better.”

As tempting as it was to argue, Burr put his pride aside for now. The scratch of quill against paper resumed, telling Burr that John had returned to his work. There would be no meal time conversation, then. That suited Burr just fine. Staying quiet bought him time to think and determine how best to mend the dispute between himself and John. He started with the bread, chewing it for longer than was necessary as he mulled his options over. There had been no problem with Burr’s performance. There had been more than enough evidence that John had enjoyed himself, and he had just refuted the idea that Burr had somehow missed some cue. He had not seemed distressed when Burr had cleaned himself, either. When he closed his eyes, Burr could still picture John reclined in his bed, naked and sated and looking very content with his lot. He put the thought aside quickly. It was a pleasant memory, but it warmed Burr’s blood too much for the moment.

If it was not his performance and not his hygiene that had caused offence, it must be something he said. Burr mulled their conversation over. As short as the conversation had been, it took the rest of the meal for Burr to reach a conclusion that made sense to him. When he figured it out, he set his plate aside and stared at John. He waited until John paused to dip the nib of his pen in ink, then cleared his throat. Being subtle would not work here. John had little patience for such things, and the last thing Burr wanted to do was aggravate him further.

“I did not mean to imply I did not wish to see you again. I count you as a dear friend, and I cannot think of anything that would change that.”

The second John’s frame tensed, Burr knew he had said the wrong thing. 

“Who can I bring for you?” John asked. The words were short and curt, and he did not bother to turn around. His chair scraped against the floor when he pushed back and stood up. Burr hesitated for a moment before admitting,

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You are in no position to be left alone, and I refuse to be confined with a self-obsessed, manipulative, - “

“I beg your pardon!” Burr protested. He stared at John with his mouth open in shock. “If I have somehow caused offence, then you have my apologies, but I will not stand for such slander.”

“It’s not slander. It’s true,” John said. He crossed the room in just a few long, confident steps. There was something almost predatory about his swagger, and Burr hated himself for not being able to tell if he found it frightening or arousing. Neither was a useful response: above all, he felt deep dismay at John’s words. The idea that his friend thought so little of him made his heart sink. A large part of Burr wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers and fade out of existence, but he did not give into the urge. John had stopped by the edge of the bed, forcing Burr to crane his neck to make eye contact. 

“You call me your friend, but you were willing to toss me aside like a used rag when you’d had your fun. You disgust me.”

The words did not hurt Burr so much as confuse him. His expression pinched together in open misunderstanding, hoping his befuddlement might win him some sympathy. At the very least, he wanted to understand what John was saying.

“I didn’t ask you to leave.”

The sympathy he had hoped for was not forthcoming. John sneered at him. “Only because you’re too much of a coward, prattling on about risks and foolishness, and - “

“Because there are risks,” Burr said loudly. It was not often he raised his voice, but not even the stabbing pain in his throat could stop him from doing so now. At last, he understood. John had not thought Burr did not want to be friends: he had thought Burr did not wish to lie with him again, and that thought had made him angry. The revelation was enough to make Burr’s head spin. It was a heady feeling, being wanted, and he was surprised by both the scale and breadth of emotions that flooded him at the realization. What surprised him most was the relief. Burr wanted this, and he had not realized how badly he wanted it until he had it within arm’s reach. All he had to do was make John understand. 

The increase in volume had been enough to startle John into temporary silence. Burr pressed his advantage. “We both know the cost of being caught. There are risks in our work, too, but that does not mean we do not do it. We rescued those prisoners, even though it was a risk. All risk means is that we plan our actions with care and diligence and take proper precautions. We do it carefully.”

There was something immensely gratifying in watching realization dawn over John’s face. Look, Burr wanted to say. Look how badly you got it wrong. He held his tongue, but he did not quite manage to hide his satisfaction. John took a seat on the edge of the bed, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. 

“I made a mistake,” he said. “I thought you didn’t want me.“

“I’m well aware,” Burr said. He met John’s stare with a steady gaze. His head may feel stuffed and slow from fever, but on this one matter, he knew exactly what his position was. He wanted John. He wanted to come out of this conversation with some sort of arrangement that let him keep not only John’s friendship, but also his intoxicating touch. There was a special kind of intimacy that came in such friendships, and it was one Burr was willing to risk a great deal for. That aside, Burr was also annoyed. John had caused him a full week of stress and anxiety because he had been too impatient and too stubborn to communicate what he wanted. The mere thought of the frustration made his head ache. 

“Will you let me try again?” John asked him. For an instant, Burr thought he would say ‘no’. The spiteful instinct passed as quickly as it had came, but it left him feeling drained and exhausted. The exhaustion overtook his pride, and he leaned his weight against John. John’s arm settled around his shoulders. Warm content spread out from Burr’s chest out through the rest of his body. He was sick and in pain, yes, but that did not matter. What mattered was that he was safe. He was home in his own bed, clean and fed and warm, with the worst of his fever hopefully past. John’s body was a warm and solid presence beside him, and that was more reassuring than Burr liked to admit. He liked even better just how tightly John held him. 

“Well?” John prompted. It took Burr a moment to remember the question, but when he did he chuckled.

“I’m hardly in any state for such activities right now.”

John let out a huff of laughter. “I know that, idiot. But I was angry. I don’t want to be angry with you any more.”

“Then don’t be,” Burr said. Perhaps it was the fever speaking, but it sounded like a very simple problem to him. “You needn’t worry about me. I am much too tired to hold a grudge.”

He felt John’s hand press against his forehead. It took Burr a moment to realize John was checking his temperature, not merely being affectionate. He let out a small sigh and waited patiently.

“Still warm,” John muttered. He tried to smile, but the expression looked tight and worried. Burr may be on the mend, but he was still sick. “That explains why you’re willing to let me get away with what I said.”

Burr nodded in agreement. He was aware that just a few minutes ago he had been angry, although the fog clouding his brain made it difficult to remember why. Whatever it was, he did not think it could have been important. Despite the aching limbs and pounding head that came with his fever, he was content. John kissed his forehead and coaxed him to lie down.

“Get some sleep. You can berate me for insulting you once you’re better.”

That sounded like an agreeable plan. He was tired enough that he did not even think to complain when John fussed and tucked the sheets tight around him. Sleep took him quickly, and for the first time since his fever had come, his dreams were sweet.


	6. Possession

When John finally broke the news, Burr could not believe it. It had taken him two more days to recover enough to wonder about the fate of the mission, but he had assumed it was a technical success. John and the captives had escaped, and he now felt confident that even he had made it out alive. His trick with the powder had been a success. It had brought the roof of the sewer down, and the collapsing rubble behind him would block any pursuit. That would have been enough for Burr. He had not considered the effects of wiping out the fort’s supply of powder. 

The news got better: the explosion had wiped out half the armory, and that had been just the start. The local militas had seen the explosion as a rallying point. While John had spent his days helping Burr through his fever, the various groups across New York had rallied and launched a spontaneous attack. With no ammunition, no powder, and no heavy guns, the British had been helpless. They had no choice but to retreat. What had been meant as a simple rescue mission had turned into a major strategic victory. With the British ejected from the fort, they had no remaining handholds on Manhattan from which to launch an attack on New York. The island was safe.

John was more than willing to give Burr the credit and made no attempts to hide his admiration. He spoke often of Burr’s bravery, although he was equally as quick to scold him for getting hurt. It made Burr uneasy. He wondered if John would look at him like that if he knew Burr had been looking only to save his own selfish hide. He said nothing. Instead, Burr contented himself with the knowledge that his relationship with John was on the mend. As Burr healed, John all but moved in with Burr, and seemed happy to do so. He remained even after Burr had healed. At first, Burr enjoyed it.

Within three days, Burr was ready to strangle him. 

Whatever his opinions on John’s merits were, he had the unfortunate habit of continuing to exist in Burr’s space when Burr began to crave solitude. At all hours of the day, John was there. When Burr woke, it was with John’s hair in his face and the warmth of his back pressed against him; when he fell asleep, it was with John’s arms holding him tight from behind. At first it had been pleasant. John was good company, and Burr enjoyed conversation with him more than with most men. But over time, Burr found himself growing irritated. He had grown used to his own space. He was more than used to making concessions regarding his privacy while at war, but that was a different matter. This was his space that he had cultivated. It was meant to be his and his alone. 

Of all the things John did, the thing Burr hated most was how soft he had made him. Even at his most irritable, John could cheer him up. No matter how Burr tried to cling to his anger (because he was tired, because John had snored all night, because John spilled oil on the floor and committed a thousand other little sins Burr would have hated anyone else for), he would find it bleeding away in the face of John’s aggressive optimism. If Burr grumbled, John only laughed.

“You’re lucky you’re still handsome when you’re grumpy.”

Even after Burr healed, John was in his house as often as not. If Burr asked him to leave, he would leave, but as much as he complained, Burr never told him to go. He came to rely on and expect John’s presence in his life. His presence was no longer a disruption to Burr’s routine: it was part of it. John managed to work his way into every corner of Burr’s life. They did not just share a bed and their military work, but every little mundane activity in life. When Burr rose each morning, he drew enough hot water for two baths. When John came each night he brought food with him, quickly having learnt that Burr was prone to getting fleeced at the market and paying far too much for his produce. They faced it all together as though it were the most simple and natural thing in the world. It was, Burr realized with a start, almost like being husband and wife - although which of them played which role, he never could figure out. Each of them looked out for and cared for the other. There was no set pattern in the bedroom to guide him. They were as equitable there as they were in the rest of their dealings. Burr gave as good as he got, and loved it either way. 

The nature of their relationship plagued Burr’s thoughts. He did not know why it bothered him, but the question kept him awake at night long after John had fallen asleep and started snoring and drooling against his shoulder. The fact that John’s less flattering habits no longer bothered Burr was another sign something had shifted. The last time Burr had taken a man to bed, he had kicked him out for snoring. But Burr no longer cared how many irritations came with John’s presence, not if it meant he got to press against his side in the cold of night. 

“I don’t know what we are,” Burr admitted one night. The wind howled outside, and the shutters banged against the windows loudly enough that neither of them could sleep. Only one flickering candle lit the room. It cast strange shapes over the wall, and Burr found himself staring at the flickering shadows instead of looking at John’s face. He continued to stare even as John propped himself up on one elbow to look at him.

“What do you mean?”

The words stuck in Burr’s throat. In the end, all he could manage was a terse, “Us.”

“What about us?” John wanted to know. Burr risked a sideways glance. John’s expression was pinched in confusion, his eyebrows furrowed together. He wasn’t playing dumb to trick Burr into showing his cards: he was genuinely confused. Burr’s heart swelled with affection. There was no judgement or frustration in John’s face. It would have been easy to interpret Burr’s words as silly or foolish, but John had assumed Burr had something worthwhile to say. 

“This thing between us. It’s not friendship, not anymore. It’s something new.” Burr hesitated a moment, trying to find the words for what he wanted to say, before he gave up. He sighed. “I’m being foolish. Forget it.”

“You’re talking about feelings,” John said. 

There was a healthy amount of suspicion in his voice. Burr would have expected nothing less. Even with John, he tended to avoid talking about his feelings. Emotions were messy, uncomfortable things that did nothing but complicate and confuse matters, always with inconvenient timing. For the most part, Burr would be happy to be rid of them. That was another rule of Burr’s John had managed to break: he did not think he could bear to set these feelings aside, even if he could. It would be a disservice to both John and himself. 

“I am. I don’t understand them,” Burr said. 

“Most people don’t. We just live with them,” John pointed out. He pressed a series of kisses along Burr’s jaw. In a teasing voice, he added, “You should give it a try someday.”

Burr could not hold back an undignified snort of laughter at that. “I am. And you’re distracting me.”

“You’re not. You’re overthinking it. Anyone would think you were talking about work,” John said. He bit Burr’s shoulder just hard enough to break Burr’s resolve and force him to make eye contact. The sight of John grinning up at him took Burr’s breath away. His crooked grin promised mischief, and his honey eyes were as intoxicating as ever. It made focusing on his words more of a challenge than Burr liked to admit. “You’re trying to pin it down and name everything. You might not like what you find if you do. Some things don’t need a name.”

“Everything needs a name,” Burr disagreed.

“Names are tricky things. They can frighten people, and they’re not even necessary. You can know things without having the words for it.”

“Like what?”

He expected John to answer him properly, but instead he leaned up and pressed a kiss to Burr’s lips. His mouth was warm and soft against Burr’s, and Burr pulled him closer with a contented hum. This was better than conversation. He stroked one hand down John’s spine, contemplating which direction to take things. They had already found pleasure once that evening, but that would not be enough to stop them from making a mess of themselves once again. Before he could make a decision, John pulled back. Burr tried to follow, lips chasing after him, but John’s hand on his chest pushed him down. He blinked up at John, baffled. 

“I knew it would be that easy to distract you,” John laughed. It took Burr a moment to get his brain back online. When he did, he glared.

“That’s cheating.”

“But it worked. I knew it would because I know you, Burr. And I know what it is between us, even if there’s not a name we can agree on. But it’s real. I feel it. I think you feel it, too. And whatever it is, it’s something good. We’re something good.”

“I’m not about to run away. You don’t need to convince me to stay,” Burr told him. He could not keep a note of indignation out of his voice. Burr may not understand what they were, but he had no intentions of going anywhere. At his protest, John grinned and reached up to touch his cheek.

“I know. You’re here. I can’t believe it sometimes. I thought for sure you’d panic and run, but look at you,” John said. He rolled over, straddling Burr’s hips. There was something hypnotic in his gaze, and Burr felt a shiver run down his spine. When he’d raised the question, he hadn’t been expecting this. Perhaps he should have: John had proven exceptionally skilled at keeping Burr off balance, making him question both himself and the way the world worked. Worse, he did it without trying. Most people had to struggle to unsettle Burr, but John did so with ease and good humour. 

“While we’re speaking about foolish things, can I tell you a foolish idea of my own?”

Burr nodded. So long as John kept looking at him with such affection, he would be content to listen to anything. The smile on John’s face widened. He traced his fingertips over Burr’s face, the touch so light and gentle it made Burr’s skin tingle. 

“It’s a fantasy I’ve had, more often than I should admit. After we win the war, after I convince Congress to ban slavery, I want to take you home. You’d like South Carolina. We could live like bachelors, and I’d take you to bed each night. We could live like that, the two of us.”

There were a million things Burr could say to that. The assumption that they would win the war, the impossibility of congress complying with John’s wishes - the entire idea was ludicrous. Burr nearly laughed. He would have laughed at anyone else who said it, and chastised them for being offended. But there was something tender and fragile in John’s voice that cut Burr’s temper short. A strange emotion swelled in Burr’s chest. As bizarre as it was, Burr was horrified to find a part of him wanted to agree. He had no love for the countryside, but it was not hard for him to imagine a future where he was content in such a situation, so long as John was by his side. The unwelcome longing frightened him. Burr did not like being bamboozled by his own feelings, and it turned his tongue sharp.

“I’m not your wife.”

“Obviously not,” John said with a snort. “I’m not talking about marriage. I’m talking about... something else.”

“Something else,” Burr echoed flatly. The words were either rude or frightened, but even Burr himself could not have guessed which. He wondered which John assumed. Whichever it was, it was enough to make him hesitate. His hands stopped their ceaseless roaming over Burr’s skin, and there was just enough light for Burr to see him swallow heavily.

“Love, maybe.”

It had been fear. It had to have been fear, because that was the only thing that could have preceded the dizzying terror that swept Burr at those words. His heart pounded in his throat. It felt as though terror had taken on physical form and was clawing at the inside of his chest, stealing his breath and making his stomach clench and tighten. His hands clenched into fists in the sheets. Every instinct Burr had said to run, but there would be no running with John straddling his hips and pinning him down. Even so, he looked around the room and took a catalogue of the exits. The front door was shut and locked, but the window was open a crack, and Burr’s building was low and squat. 

Burr’s eyes were wide with terror when he looked back at John, but John’s expression held none of the fear Burr expected. What he saw was much worse. The distress on John’s face made his heart ache, but what he could not tolerate was the pity. John touched his cheek with one hand.

“It’s alright if you can’t acknowledge it. I know it. You know it, even if you can’t admit it.”

“It’s impossible,” Burr insisted. Grief crept into his voice, and he felt something burning in the back of his throat. God help him, he wanted to love John. He wanted it with every fibre of his being. But no matter how much Burr burned with desire, he knew the way the world worked. “It’s impossible, John - we’re both men. Sex is one thing, but love isn’t possible, no matter what we want.”

“Mm. What _we_ want,” John said. Too late Burr realized he’d misspoke, and there would be no correcting John now. He had latched onto the words as soon as they had left Burr’s lips. “So you want to love me.”

“Of course,” Burr said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. John’s expression brightened at the response, and Burr felt his heart twist in his chest. It was a strange feeling when coupled with the way his head was spinning. “Of course I do. Just look at you. I don’t know how I could want anything less. But what you’re talking about is never going to happen. It’s a dream, John. Nothing more.”

“Isn’t that what love is?” John asked. Burr stared at him, unable to comprehend John’s meaning, so John continued, 

“Love isn’t in having. It’s in wanting. I am free to want what I want, and what I want is you. They can stop me from admitting it. They can force us into hiding. But at the end of the day, they can’t stop us from feeling what we do, and I know what I feel in my heart. There is nothing you can say or do to convince me that what I feel for you right now is anything less than love.”

Burr’s breath caught in his throat. He stared up at John with wide eyes. The raw tumult of emotion on John’s face made staring too painful, so Burr screwed his eyes tightly shut after just a moment. He forced himself to let out a slow exhale. His mind raced as he tried different responses and excuses on for size, but when he opened his eyes and made eye contact with John, the truth spilled out.

“I don’t know if you’re right. But if love is in wanting, then I have loved you for months.”

Before he could regret it, John kissed him. The kiss wiped Burr’s mind clean of any counter-arguments he might have wanted to make. It was hard to argue with the press of John’s warm mouth against his own, and even harder when John turned the kiss into something hungry. He nipped at Burr’s lower lip before retreating and staring down at him. His eyes were alight with glee. The grin on his face was as wide as Burr had ever seen it, and he could not resist reaching up to brush his thumb over John’s lower lip. They did not talk much after that. One thing lead to another, and before Burr knew it John was riding his cock, staring down at him with an expression so full of feeling it made Burr’s head spin. 

Over the next several days, Burr adjusted his world view to include the idea he was in love with John. Despite his initial resistance to the idea, Burr could not deny there was a part of him that liked the idea. He found himself smiling at odd times of day when he thought about it, and he thought of John more often than he should have. As silly as it was, John’s little fantasy about a life shared together had its charm. Burr himself had grander dreams. When he let himself indulge in such fantasies, he had a tendency to think about laws and politics and exactly how he would shape the country he wanted to build. Now, though, he found his dreams changing. He would think about bending Congress to his will, but he would also wonder what it would be like to do so with John openly by his side. He wondered what it would be like to not fear the consequences of being caught. 

From there, the doubts would set in, and Burr chastised himself for daring to even think about such things. Such doubts were an unwelcome but inescapable plague on his mind. As certain as he was in his affection for John, Burr could not shake off the fear that there would be consequences. When it had just been sex, things had been easier. Sex he understood. It was something simple and uncomplicated he could stop at any time. The ability to stop was important to him. If the legal risk were too great, or if he chose to heed the Church’s warnings about sin, Burr would need to be able to quit. Burr could not quit John, even if he wanted to. Everything about the man was addictive. John was temptation given human form. If this was some kind of test from God to test Burr’s soul, he had failed spectacularly and without regret. If the taste of John’s lips had not won him over, then he would have been doomed by his loyalty and passion.

There was one silver lining. Whatever doubts Burr had vanished whenever John was near. It was impossible to believe what they had between them was something as dark and perverted as people made it out to be. It was love, pure and simple. Burr loved John as fiercely as he had ever loved a woman. The more time he spent with him, the more he believed John’s senseless assertion that the love between them was something good. He settled into the knowledge and found himself happy with it. They did not behave the way a besotted couple should. There were no long romantic walks or secretive love letters, no glittering balls and romantic sunsets. What they had instead was the rest of life. Even the most mundane parts of everyday life seemed more tolerable with John by his side. When Burr’s mood tended towards impatience and frustration, the sight of John’s smile was enough to ease his mind. His passion and playful nature could turn boring tasks into a pleasurable game, and he remained one of the few people who could quell Burr’s temper once roused. 

Most importantly, John gave Burr a point of stability. With so much riding on his work, it was all too easy for Burr to get caught up in his own thoughts and paralyze himself with indecision. It never ended well. It was a vicious cycle. He would be so wracked with anxiety that even the most trivial decision seemed beyond him, and he would misjudge. The consequences of his miscalculation would become the focus of an obsession. Burr would berate himself day and night for his mistake. The resulting misery fed back into his anxiety, and the whole damned cycle repeated - but John helped him break out of it. John did not seem to care about Burr’s silly mistakes. Instead of teasing him or berating him, he simply shrugged, agreed it was unfortunate and moved on. As if it were really that simple! But when John acted as though it was, he could fool Burr into believing it. He let himself forget his ridiculous mistakes and focus on the way his heart swelled at the mere thought of John. He soon forgot the things about John that irritated him. He craved his presence at all times, and John was glad to provide it. If this was love, Burr thought, then he was lucky indeed, because he could not imagine loving someone better than John Laurens.


	7. Assimilation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: discussion of war and battles, plot-heavy chapter

ASSIMILATION

General Montgomery was dead.

The news did not reach Burr until soldiers from the northern campaign started trickling back to rejoin the main Continental army. Canada was lost. Even worse, Burr’s hopes of promotion and reward lay in tatters. His mission had come direct from the general himself. His reports, his intelligence, his work - everything had been directed to Montgomery’s command tent. To protect Burr, no one but the general and his most trusted aide had known about his mission. Both of them were dead. 

The general himself had taken a bullet to the neck, and he was in many ways lucky: the attack had been a massacre. Only a handful of his men had escaped to join up with the other half of the army, leaving thousands dead in Quebec. Burr wondered how many of his friends had died. He had letters from some confirming they were alive and well. One letter he read three times over, reassuring himself that his friend Jon Bellamy was safe. Bellamy was one of the three key people in his life. If something were to happen to him, Burr did not know how he would cope. He would be as much a wreck as if something were to happen to Theodosia or John Laurens. The thought was too dreadful to contemplate, and Burr put it out of his mind.

He waited two days before revealing the situation to John. Much to Burr’s relief, John did not try to provide advice. All John did was squeeze Burr’s shoulder and ask if he knew what he wanted to do. Burr considered his options. He could head north and meet his old regiment half way, but to what end? The invasion of Canada was an abject failure, and Burr could foresee no good coming out of any future attacks. Getting involved with the retreating units could only hurt his military career. He could go to Boston. The siege of Boston was well underway, led by none other than General Washington himself. It was an appealing prospect. If even half the rumours were true, Washington’s manners and capabilities were bordering on those of a minor deity. Boston would fall to him, and Burr could be part of that victory. But even as he thought of himself driving the British out and liberating the city, Burr knew it was the wrong decision.

“We keep working. New York is the real prize. You’ve seen the same reports I have. We know the British are on their way here. Even if General Washington brings reinforcements, we’ll need every advantage we can get if we’re to hold the city. We can prepare for that.”

A grin spread across John’s face, and Burr thought he could detect a glint of approval in his eyes. “Does this mean what I think it means?”

Burr nodded. He pulled out a stack of papers from his desk, all carefully written in code. It was a simple encryption, one that both he and John knew so well that neither of them needed to write out a translation. He set out the papers on the side of the desk; in the centre he spread out a map of the city.

“We do this right. No unnecessary risks, no civilian casualties. If we move too quickly, word will get out that someone is targeting British sympathizers. The last thing we want is to put them on their guard before we eliminate them.”

“Can’t be on guard if they’re dead,” John pointed out. He leaned over the desk, his expression focused with that terrible rage that had once made Burr’s head spin. His eyes swept over the map, and Burr knew without a doubt he was planning how to do as much damage as possible. He gave him a moment to fantasize before interrupting.

“Short of burning the entire city to the ground, there’s no way you and I can take down all the Loyalists in one night. We need to prioritize. Ringleaders first, then supply caches and rendezvous points.”

They bickered a little longer, but Burr’s arguments were logical and well presented. Even if he had not been the ranking officer present (a fact he preferred to forget around John), his arguments would have carried the day. Burr set out the plan in clear stages. They would take down the ringleaders first, then the stores of weapons and ammunition and other such strongholds. Once their enemies had no way left to organize, they could pick away at the loyalists at their leisure. 

He left it to John to figure out which militia to send on which mission: John handled the negotiations and knew them best. Burr had little patience for the militia leaders, all acting like little generals in their own right. It had been a relief to delegate that part of his role. In any case, Burr did not need to know that level of detail. All he needed to know was that the mission would be performed to his specifications and that the right men would die. Neither John nor Burr felt inclined to venture out that night, but the next day, they started their work.

Within a week, the word was out. Despite Burr’s best efforts, whispers spread amongst the better-informed Loyalists. People were disappearing. Some of them received urgent orders calling them out of their homes in the depth of night, never to return. More than one man was found murdered in his own home, and a few were ambushed and left to rot in the sun. Most just vanished. Even if no evidence was found, it did not take a genius to realize what had happened. British sympathizers started to gather in small groups to gossip about what had happened. They all agreed something had to be done, but none of them could agree what that thing was. The local leaders were dead. Whenever any one man tried to stand up, he too would vanish.

“It’s a traitor,” one of them told Burr. Burr did his best to widen his eyes with fear and nod along with the man’s story. There were one or two meeting places he had decided to leave standing for exactly this reason: gathering information. This would always be easier than seizing correspondence. For the price of a few pints and a sympathetic ear, people would tell Burr everything he wanted to hear.

“My money’s on Williamson,” another said. “He never did like our Jack, and I’ve heard his missus is on him about his debts. I’d bet my last shilling that he sold them out to some filthy patriot.”

“Williamson? You’re dreaming. That man’s as true as anyone here,” a third piped up. “You’re forgetting Rogers up and vanished just before all this started. Do you really think he got orders from General Howe?”

A wave of discontented murmuring ran around the table. Burr hid a his smile by taking a sip of beer. Rogers had been easy to fool, and Burr had taken a certain amount of pleasure in watching John slit the man’s throat. They had stuffed him in a sewer and called it a night. Burr had targeted him because of his widespread influence amongst the British and the generous fortune he used to fund his schemes. He had not dared to hope he might be mistaken for a traitor. Discontent and dismay spread among the loyalists, and they started to mistrust one another.

Burr wrote a report, although he had no one to submit it to. Unsure of his current standing with the army, he sent a letter to General Washington outlining his situation. He outlined the history of his service with Montgomery and the nature of his mission, but he did not reveal his identity. To Burr’s delight, he got a response. Burr was to continue his work and present himself to Washington when he returned to New York with a full report. Burr’s chest puffed out with pride. An audience with Washington himself! It was an honour he could not have dared to hope for. 

In the meantime, Burr was to report to the man Washington had left in charge of New York in his absence, one Major General Charles Lee. Lee was to know nothing of his work in New York. He presented only as a captain who had been separated from his men in Canada, and Lee welcomed him with open arms. The welcome was a mixed blessing. The favour and friendship of a general was nothing to be sneezed at, and Lee had decades of experience in the European art of war. It was only that which motivated Burr to overcome his personal distaste for the man. His mannerisms, personality and hygiene were all most displeasing to Burr, who prided himself on his fastidious manners and liked to bathe more than was strictly proper. But likeable or not, Lee was useful.

Even after joining Lee, Burr kept his secret work running. The chaos Burr inflicted on the loyalists could not keep them down for long. Not even the arrival of the Continental army managed to extinguish them. Their enthusiasm returned to fever pitch when white sails appeared on the horizon. The British ships were tall and elegant, bristling at the sides with cannons and filled with disciplined redcoats. Burr’s heart sank as he counted them. There could easily be more than thirty thousand in the harbour, and that was without counting those already lurking in the streets. 

The British made land at Staten Island. It was too far for the attack to be imminent, but close enough to remind the people of New York what was coming. Burr started to make plans immediately. 

He met John in a safehouse near the harbour. Even John looked shaken by the arrival. He would not stop pacing the length of the small room, and Burr thought he could even see a hint of fear in his eyes. He could not blame him for it. This would be John’s first real battle: Burr would have questioned his sanity if he had been unafraid.

“There’s so many.”

“Don’t think about that. Focus on what’s in front of you.”

John nodded. “What’s in front of me.”

His eyes fixed on Burr. Before Burr guessed his intent, he had crossed the room and pressed him up against the wall. The hard press of John’s mouth against his own surprised Burr more than it should have. A startled noise slipped from Burr’s mouth. He gave himself several seconds to indulge in the pleasure and comfort that came with the kiss before he shifted under John’s hands, intending to dislodge him. To his surprise, he could not. The weak points he normally went for were protected, and Burr realized John must have actually listened to his advice on how to handle men with his training. The thought made him smile. Since he could not pull away, he moved both hands to John’s chest and pushed. John moved easily. Even though he moved willingly, there was a pout on his lips and his eyes were wide with confusion.

“Other rebels use this safehouse. We can’t risk it.”

“What if we don’t get another chance?”

“The British just landed. They will be tired and ill-tempered from their time at sea: if their commander has any sense, he will wait for them to regroup before they attack. We have tonight. Maybe tomorrow, too, if we are fortunate.”

Not only did the British give them that night, but they showed no signs of moving the next day. A week later, they still had not moved. A month passed. General Washington and the Continental Army marched in from Boston to a heroes welcome, and still the British fleet waited offshore. Most people tried to put it out of their mind. Until the British moved, there was nothing they could do, so life continued as if the threat of war did not hang over the city.

For his part, Burr’s habits changed in two ways. At night, he dedicated himself to his lovers. Not a single night passed when he was not with either John or Theodosia, and each time he left he knew it could be the last. He loved them both dearly, and made sure they knew it as best he could.

His days were given to the army. Through his contacts, Burr managed to secure himself a place on Washington’s staff. He had hoped to distinguish himself through his service and use the connection to reveal his role in preparing the city for war. It had seemed an easy task - at least, until he met the general. Burr had served as aide-de-camp for General Montgomery in Canada and had excelled at the task, earning multiple commendations. His meticulous care for his general’s business had earned him a promotion and the promise of future support from the general. He longed to do the same for Washington, but Burr was given no opportunity to do so. General Washington was distant, rarely deigning to speak with his staff. Although always proper, his temper was short, and Burr found himself comforting distressed coworkers more than once. His standards of discipline were strict. Drinking, cursing and all sorts of revelry were banned, even off duty. The first time someone staggered into work still drunk from the previous night, Washington ordered the man whipped. As he watched his friend bleed in the snow, Burr could not help but wonder what fate he would face if Washington found out about Burr's sodomy. If drinking too much earned a whipping, he shuddered to think what might happen to him. 

Severity was not the most grievous of Washington's sins. Worst of all, he rebuffed all Burr’s attempts to approach him. No matter what Burr said or did to catch his attention, he found no opportunity to approach the general and share the information he had on the city. Every time he approached, he was sent away. Anger simmered in Burr’s heart. But no matter how frustrated he was, Burr shared his thoughts with no one, not even John. He would not sabotage his own career. Only a idiot would stake his reputation against Washington’s, and Burr had no desire to see himself torn to shreds in the public eye for questioning the general’s honour. Instead, he claimed to be frustrated with the life of a secretary, and quit.

After leaving Washington’s immediate service, he reclaimed his old title of captain. His men were still staggering out of Canada, but that did not mean he could not serve in the coming battle himself. He watched the British ships, and waited. Another five weeks passed with no incident, and even Burr started to let his guard down.

On the seventh week, the British attacked.

The people of Manhattan had little reason to suspect anything was wrong. The British troops descended on Brooklyn from the north and overwhelmed the soldiers on duty there without trouble. Though nothing came through official channels, Burr heard whispers of what had happened. The route into Brooklyn had been guarded by only five soldiers. The men were unprepared. The army on Manhattan stood at alert, waiting for the command to relieve their comrades across the river, but no such orders came. Washington waited, and Brooklyn fell. As night fell, the remaining American troops were pressed back against the river. A heavy fog descended. It was only then Washington acted, sending boats across the river to evacuate his men under the cover of night. That he managed to extract the troops was nothing short of a miracle, but Burr could not help but wonder how things had reached that stage at all.

At dawn, the British were amazed to find their enemies across the river. The news did not long delay them. They set sail across the river without delay. By mid-morning, British troops were streaming into Kipps Bay. Without any troops at his immediate command, Burr could do little but watch as the American defence shuddered and broke. He did what he could. When he found fleeing units in the streets, he directed them to strong fallback points or ammunition caches he knew of. He ambushed British soldiers and reunited lost patriots with their units. It was not until he heard the call to retreat that Burr decided to react.

He found Washington’s headquarters in disarray. The secretaries and aides recognized him, and no one attempted to stop Burr as he made his way to the general’s room. He expected to be insulted. At the very least, he expected to be dismissed. But he was taken aback when the general asked who he was. Burr gave his name, but there was no spark of recognition in the general’s eyes. It surprised Burr. While working as an aide, General Washington had gotten his name wrong several times, but he had expected at least to be recognized. But perhaps it was for the best. This was a clean slate.

“I was a captain under General Montgomery,” Burr said. “I think that I can be of some assistance. I admire how you keep firing on the British from a distance, but we can do more than retreat. I know this city. I’ve been operating here for some months. I had some questions and a couple of suggestions about how to fight instead of fleeing northwest.”

“Yes?”

Before Burr could get even a word out, the door opened and an all too familiar figure stepped in. “Your Excellency, you wanted to see me?”

“Hamilton, come in. Have you met Burr?”

“Yes, sir. We keep meeting.”

Both Hamilton and Burr said the same thing at the same time, wearing identical, strained grins. Before Burr could say another word, Washington dismissed him. Burr had no choice but to leave. He left seething with silent anger. He could help, Burr knew he could help, but Washington and Hamilton together was a recipe for his personal ruin. There was nothing Burr could say or do to make Washington listen to him now, and the army would pay the price as they retreated. He took a moment in the hall to calm himself. By the time he ventured out into the main room of the inn, Burr had managed to school his expression into complete neutrality.

As Burr left, a man grabbed him by the arm. “You’re a captain, right? Where are your men?”

“Canada. I was sent south early.”

The man nodded. “General Putnam’s looking for officers. He’s leading the way north to secure Harlem. He’s in the old church down the end of the street.”

Burr nodded and took his leave. He did not like the idea of making another introduction given his current mood, but he had few options. Retreat was imminent. A chance to help execute that retreat was better than nothing, both for his reputation and the fate of the army. He made his way to the church directly, despite a strong desire to flee in the opposite direction and join whatever battle he could find.

Inside and around the church he found the remains of a brigade, or what passed for one in the Continental Army. Two thousand men stood at arms. The more he looked, the more he saw the telltale signs of recent battle. None of the companies were complete, and more than one must have been completely wiped out. Wounded took up the bulk of space in the church. Most telling of all, the men gathered there had a familiar, haunted look in their eyes. It was a look Burr knew well. It was a look all soldiers had following a recent battle, one that he himself would likely wear before the night was out. The thought occurred to Burr that John, too, would look so tired and grief-stricken by the time Burr saw him next, and he took a moment to grieve for his lover’s innocence. In a better world, John might never have learnt the true cost of war.

Inside the church he found Putnam, surrounded by his officers. It was immediately clear why he was on the hunt for more: the officers present could account for less than half of the assembled troops. They would need more leaders if they were to get this brigade to the other end of Manhattan in one piece.

“Pardon me, General Putnam, sir? I was referred to you by a secretary at General Washington’s offices.”

General Putnam was not so large a man as Washington, but he was still easily twice Burr’s size. His dark hair was more than half gone to grey, but his eyes were as shrewd and sharp as any man could hope for. He could not have looked at Burr for more than a second before he identified the marks on his uniform.

“Captain. You’re looking for a regiment to sign up with?”

Burr nodded. “I served under General Montgomery before relocating to New York on his orders. What is left of his regiment is said to have joined the retreat south.”

“Tell me what you know about this area.”

The question was a test. Burr’s heart hammered in his chest, and he gave himself a moment to organize his thoughts. This was not the time to blurt out everything he knew. Putnam could interrupt him at any second, and Burr had only one chance to impress him. He focused on what the general would want to know. He started with which points in the city would be the best for the ambush, and which he suspected the British would already occupy. When Putnam listened without interruption, he moved on to outline the location of local supply caches that may be of use. He warned against passing too close to Fort Washington during the northern retreat: it may be friendly territory, but the hills and forests in the area made it perfect for an ambush. When he proposed an alternate route, he gave his reasons clearly before finally falling silent. He had said his piece. What happened now was out of his hands. The thought should have been alarming, but instead Burr took comfort in the thought he had done all he could.

“Burr, was it?”

At Burr’s nodd, the general smiled. “Welcome aboard. There’ll be time for chit-chat later. For now, I want your help planning our route north.”

For the next hour, Burr, Putnam and two other officers poured over maps of Manhattan and argue over the best route to take. Whenever he spoke, Burr was listened to. The observation caused the warm glow of pride to settle in his chest. His work had not been for nothing, and there were men in the army who appreciated his service. His words were not taken at face value, but his arguments and reasoning were given due consideration. Knowing Manhattan as he did, Burr pushed for caution. The only way to guarantee the brigade made it north safely was with care and diligence . It was frustrating, Burr conceded, but he would rather be known as pedantic and overcautious than risk the lives of their men. When he made his argument, he saw General Putnam nod with approval. Burr was not alone in his priorities, then.

When the General gave the order to move out, Burr was assigned to the head of the column. Fifty men were placed under his immediate command. They were to be the vanguard of the retreat, responsible for finding and clearing a path for the thousand men that would follow. The responsibility for their safety sat on Burr’s shoulders. It was a responsibility he took seriously, no matter how much teasing he earned from his new men. He put up with the teasing with a smile. It was natural for the men to show suspicion of their new captain, and it was Burr’s responsibility to deal with it with good humour and grace.

They had barely made half the journey north before Burr’s caution was vindicated. An ambush lay ahead of them. Burr’s scouts reported over five hundred British troops in their path, ready and waiting to exterminate any American troops that fled the city. If not for Burr’s caution, he and his men would have blundered into the middle of the slaughter. As it was, they had a choice. They could avoid the ambush entirely. It would be no difficulty for Burr’s men to take a different path and never come into contact with the British. It was the easy way out. It was also, Burr decided quickly, the wrong thing to do. There would be thousands of American soldiers fleeing north, and not all of them would have the sense or luxury of Burr’s caution. If he did not do something to remove the ambush, it was only a matter of time before his fellow soldiers died.

“We take them down,” Burr decided. “I’m sending a request to General Putnam for backup. If we leave this ambush behind us, we leave a hostile force between us and the rest of the army.”

The troops were skeptical, but Burr’s orders and requests were sent out. It was not long before he received approval for his plan. Burr and a small contingent of volunteers would spring the trap, while the rest of the General’s forces surrounded the British. Once the British broke ranks to chase down Burr, they would be vulnerable to attack from behind. If the plan went as Burr hoped, they would be able to take down the British ambush without losing a single man. If it did not - well, if things went wrong, Burr would not live to see it. He volunteered to play the part of bait. It was a matter of practicality as much as anything else: if he was not willing to risk his life for his plan, why should anyone else?

The night was dark and silent as Burr led his men into place. His heart pounded in his chest and he could feel cold sweat dripping down his back, but he showed no outward sign of fear. He would be a good example to his men. He kept his spine straight and his face neutral even when a bullet passed by his ear. The next few minutes passed in a daze. Battle was never something where Burr had the luxury of planned thought and action. He ran on instinct only. Even the smallest sounds seemed louder than usual, and gunfire sounded like a cannon going off beside his very ear. The world moved before his eyes in shudders and jerks: now moving slow and languid, now flashing before his eyes before he could process what he had scene. Burr’s brain turned off. He was a soldier, and he acted on his training and the bloody instincts of war.

By the time the battle was done, Burr had killed three men. The men at his command had killed several more, and their reinforcements slaughtered the rest. The battle had been short and brutal. With the road clear, the brigade set off again on the slow and cautious trek northwards. By the time he saw the lights of Harlem, exhaustion pulled at the corners of Burr’s mind. All he wanted to do was sleep. It was a sentiment shared by the soldiers at his command, but none of them could rest just yet. General Putnam took up a local inn as his headquarters, and Burr fell into step right beside him. Even at his worst, his mind was sharper and quicker than most of his colleagues: he was better able to anticipate his general’s needs and ensure they were met promptly. They had a great deal of work to do. The entire strength of the Continental Army in New York would have retreated to Harlem by dawn, and the township was not ready for them. They needed to organize food for the men, medical care for the wounded, and shelter for all. Patrols would need to be set up. Scouts were sent to ensure there was no lingering British presence that could catch them unawares. The list of tasks was seemingly endless. Burr was swaying on the spot with exhaustion by the time General Putnam clapped him on the shoulder and said,

“Son, you’re dead on your feet. Get some rest. You’ve earned it. I’ll see that General Washington hears of your service tonight.”

Burr’s heart swelled with pride. He could not find the right words to respond, so he made do with a sharp salute before leaving the general and retiring to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered skipping this chapter, but jumping straight to the army being in the north felt disjointed.
> 
> Fun fact: large parts of this is heavily dramatized from my (limited) knowledge of American history, and my browser now autocompletes the Wikipedia link for the New York and New Jersey campaigns.


	8. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit sexual content. If you are under the age of 18 or do not want to see this content, please navigate away from this page. (If you're over the age of 18 and don't mind the risk, you can skip to the end once the flirting starts)

Burr woke the next morning to find a small city had popped up around him. As one of the first into Harlem, he and his men had the luxury of a solid building to house them. The rest of the army had been consigned to tents outside the town, stretching in neat and orderly rows. Burr counted the rows of tents. There were even more than he had expected, suggesting civilians and less active militia may have joined the fight and the retreat. It was a reassuring sight. If so many had made it north, then the retreat must have gone off without a hitch.

The empty growl of his stomach sent Burr in search of the mess hall. A large barn adjoining an inn had been turned into a dining hall for the soldiers. There were no tables to sit at, but the room was warm and the floor was clean enough to sit on. Soldiers sat in small groups around the room. At one end, the innkeeper dolled out bowls of stew to all who came; at the other, a large trough was set up for soldiers to wash their dishes. Burr had scarcely taken two steps into the room when an unfamiliar voice shouted his name. He turned to find himself confronted with the beaming faces of the men he had commanded last night. They greeted him with warmth and enthusiasm beyond what was due to him from his rank. At their invitation, Burr joined their group. The youngest went to fetch his food for him, and Burr sat in stunned silence as his men related tales of his diligence and bravery to any who would listen.

“Mark my words, not half of our brigade would’ve made it north without him,” one man said. The others agreed, chiming in with praise for the genius of his plan and the good faith he had shown in taking the most dangerous task for himself. To Burr’s astonishment, men who had not been under his direct command joined in. Rumours from the previous night had spread like wildfire. Soldiers gossiped more than any group Burr had ever known, and tales of the previous night had passed from campfire to campfire. Other soldiers tried to join their little circle, and before long people were being turned away. Burr’s head spun with giddy pleasure. This was everything he could have hoped for. His achievements were acknowledged, and he was openly adored by everyone there. 

A bell rang loud and clear through the camp. Messengers stuck their heads into every building, informing them that General Washington himself would be giving the day’s orders and providing commendations for the previous day’s work. Burr’s new friends cheered at the last part and thumped him on the back. He was so distracted he stepped out onto the street without a care, not bothering to first check for threats or potential embarrassments. The sound of his name bellowed at full volume from across the street was the only warning he had that he may have made a mistake in not checking. A heavy body slammed into Burr’s side. The force was enough to make him stagger a few steps to the side. He scrambled to collect his thoughts, unable to figure out why he was taking so long to respond. Instinct should have kicked in by now. But as soon as the thought drifted through Burr’s mind, he noticed other things: the solid lines of his assailant’s body, a stray curl of hair coming loose, and above all, a very particular smell. To Burr’s brain, the smell was gunpowder and sweat, nothing he should find remarkable or pleasant. The rest of Burr knew better. He had spent enough nights pressed against John’s side that Burr could recognize him without thought, and he abruptly realized why he had not responded with violence. This was not an attack; it was a greeting. Burr's subconscious had recognized it before the rest of him had figured it out. Beaming, Burr squirmed in John’s embrace until he could clap John on the back. When he pulled back, John was grinning wildly.

“You made it north.”

“And you finally found yourself a proper uniform,” Burr said. He took a moment to look John up and down. He used his admiration of the uniform as an excuse, but he could not stop himself checking John for any signs of injury. To his relief, there were none to be found. The only sign John showed of having been part of yesterday’s battle were the deep shadows of exhaustion under his eyes. A knot of tension released from Burr’s body. John was safe. He was alive and well and grinning at Burr with as much bright happiness as ever.

“Are you going to hear the General’s Orders?” John asked. “I hear there’s promotions in the mix. There’s rumours all over camp over some captain that saved a whole brigade.”

When Burr’s men heard that remark they snickered, calling out jests to one another about ‘some captain’. The comments were impertinent at best, and would have bordered on insubordination if Burr had not trusted in their respect and loyalty. He had known them less than a day, but he knew their humour well enough to judge it as affectionate. They were teasing John, not him. Burr looked to John and examined his expression, expecting to find him laughing. What he saw surprised him. There was no mischief in John’s expression, and he did not seem to think he had said anything provocative. He looked outright baffled by many of the comments that were being made. It all pointed to one inevitable conclusion: John did not know who or what the rumours were about.

After a moment of reflection, Burr decided to keep the truth to himself. He would rather see the look on John’s face when he was formally acknowledged, even if his lover would chastise him for it later. 

Washington’s orders for the day were brief and blunt. He did not shy away from the magnitude of their defeat, but he took care to highlight what victories there were. Hamilton’s militia was praised for stealing cannons from the British; another brigade credited for covering the retreat from the southern tip of the island. The praise continued for ten minutes, before Washington moved on to the orders of the day. The words drowned out as the blood roared in Burr’s ears. This was deliberate. It had to be. His accomplishments were going ignored, and every man there knew it. The soldiers around him muttered in discontent. Some of it would be on Burr’s behalf, but that would not be all. Acknowledgement was the fastest way for promotion for all of them. Washington’s snub was not just hurting Burr’s career; it was hurting the men he served with. When Washington left the stage, his men expressed their dismay, but there was nothing any of them could do. 

There would be no reward for Burr.

Later that day, General Putnam summoned Burr to his offices.

“I’m sorry, son,” the general told him. “I can’t understand it myself. But whatever you did to slight General Washington, I’ve no doubt you’re a competent officer. Will you be staying with my brigade?”

Burr saluted and agreed before he had even thought it out. It was not a decision he regretted, but the circumstances displeased him. General Putnam’s offer was a generous one. The support of a general would be a boon to Burr’s career, and there were few men willing to throw their lot in with a man on the wrong side of Washington. If Putnam was willing to take that risk, Burr had little choice but to accept it. There was no other clear path to advancement, and he hated that his hand was being forced. 

“I would be honoured, sir,” Burr said. He smiled, and focused on what opportunities Putnam could bring him. 

Later that evening, Burr took his leave of his new friends and made his way towards the edge of the camp. His head was spinning from the events of the day. He craved solitude, and he found himself thinking wistfully of his small apartment and the long hours he had spent there. To his surprise, what he missed most was not the time he spent alone. He missed the time spent in peaceful quiet with John. It was not even a desire for sex that was driving him. He missed long rainy nights spent with John’s head in his lap while he read, or sunny mornings where he had let John convince him to lounge around and relax. 

Lost in his thoughts, Burr did not notice the path he took lead him out of the camp. He followed it blindly, not realizing he had left until he noticed how quiet it had become around him. Burr breathed a sigh of relief. Without the clamour and chaos of the camp, he might manage to unwind. He walked a little further until he found a small clearing in the forest. The space was nearly invisible from the outside, surrounded by densely packed trees; but, if approached from the right angle, one could catch a glimpse of moonlight and wildflowers beside a quiet stream. Burr liked it immediately. It was a charming spot, affording the privacy he craved. He picked his way across the stream and settled down on the cool grass. He had no particular material comforts, but for now, he was content to lie on his back and look at the stars.

Less than a minute passed before Burr heard a sound that did not fit in with the sounds of the forest at night. The sound of footsteps was loud and clear in the quiet of night. After a few tense moments of listening, Burr saw a familiar silhouette stepping into the clearing.

“Stalking me again?”

“What can I say? I like watching the shape of your behind.”

Burr snorted. “Poetic as always, John.”

“What can I say? You bring it out in me,” John said. He sat on the ground beside Burr and crossed his legs. After a moment, he reached out and linked his fingers with Burr’s. “I heard you’re to thank for the successful retreat.”

“The men exaggerate.”

“You deserve more recognition.”

There was nothing Burr could say to that. The confusion in his voice broke Burr’s heart. Like most soldiers, John all but worshiped Washington. To admit the man was flawed would be painful enough, but to specifically admit he had made a mistake about Burr must cost him a lot. Burr squeezed his hand. John pulled his hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it. He then flipped their hands over so Burr’s palm was exposed and kissed there, then moving his mouth to his wrist. Burr shivered.

“So that’s why you followed me.”

“You know it’s not,” John said. 

When Burr met his eyes, he realized his teasing comment had not hit its mark. An awful uncertainty had crept into John’s expression. Too late, Burr realized he had stumbled across one of their old sore spots. 

John loved Burr. It was something he was proud of, and something he seemed determined to make sure Burr understood. Whenever they were alone, he spoke plainly and often about his feelings for Burr. Each time he did, the flood of emotions left Burr stuttering and tongue-tied. He lost his famous charm. John made him as vulnerable as a young girl encountering her first suitor, blushing and smiling and not knowing what to say. He would find himself unable to meet John’s eye, not out of shame, but simply because the rush of both embarrassment and joy was too much for him. No matter how he tried, Burr never managed to return the sweet words. It was never more obvious in moments like these, when Burr met John point for point with flirtatious teasing with ease.

The problem was that Burr was unused to expressions of romantic affection. Flirting was one thing. Flirting was easy: it came as naturally to Burr as breathing, and he could charm his way into almost any bed he pleased. But he never lied about his intentions, and he had never before been in love. He did not know what words he needed to say to make John happy. The truth was not an option, because Burr could not understand his feelings himself. It was love, yes, but beyond that Burr found himself unable to comprehend the sheer scale of emotions involved. It terrified him. Worse, his ignorance caused him to blunder into situations like this and hurt his lover.

Burr took a long moment to consider his options. The pause was dangerous, but worse was the prospect of blurting out the wrong thing and hurting John more. Once he had decided what to say, he tried to smile, but the expression was weak and fragile.

“I know it’s not. I tease and flirt because I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how you say ‘I love you’ so easily.”

The second the words left Burr’s mouth, he knew he had said the wrong thing. John’s expression hardened. His mouth twisted into an unhappy line, and Burr thought he saw something like heartbreak in his eyes.

“If you don’t,” he started. He tried to pull away, but Burr pinned their hands to the ground. Before John could respond, Burr surged forward and kissed him. It was not a heated kiss. He kept the motion sweet and coaxing, despite John’s awful stillness beneath him.

“I do, John. I do. That’s the problem. It’s so much.”

The tension in John’s face softened into empathy, then pity. The latter, Burr suspected, was driven by just how lost he must have looked in that moment. His voice was small and tight with tension, and broke on the last word. Burr stared at John with wide, pleading eyes. He wanted to take the words back. Even though they were true, Burr desperately wanted to take them back to salvage what little left he had of his pride. But it was too late for that. He had said them, and there was nothing he could do to make John forget them. If he could not go back, he had no choice but to press forward. He rested his forehead against John’s and let out a slow breath.

“I didn’t know love felt like this. I’ve never felt anything so much and I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know the rules. I don’t know what it means or what I should do. All I know is I need you.”

John made a shushing noise and wrapped both arms around Burr. He pulled with enough force that Burr tumbled forward, leaving him with no choice but to pull away or curl up against John’s chest. He chose the latter. For a long time, they sat in silence. Burr was content with the warmth of John’s arms and the sound of his heartbeat in his ear, and he could only presume John found similar comfort in him. Unlike John’s steady pulse, Burr’s heart pounded wildly in his chest. It slowed as John held him, and he spoke only when he felt it had returned to normal.

“I do love you, John.”

“And I love you,” John replied. Burr tilted his head up, seeking John’s lips. The last light of the day had vanished, but even in the dark he found his mark. The first kiss was slow and sweet, but they did not stop at one. One kiss turned to two, then three. After that, Burr lost count, and John's hands started to wander. As much as he loved hearing John's sweet words, Burr was very aware that opportunities to lie with him would be few and far between in the army.

It was much too cold to properly do away with their clothes, but they made do. Burr pulled John’s cravat aside to kiss his neck and collar the way he knew John loved. It was a blessing that John did not like bites. Burr did not have to worry about leaving marks when all he had to do was use his lips and tongue to make his lover shiver and moan. He traced his tongue along the line of John’s collarbone. His efforts excited John enough to make him greedy, groping roughly at Burr’s body through the thick layers of his uniform. Despite the unwanted layers of fabric between them, it felt divine. All was well until John slid a hand into Burr’s trousers - and Burr let out an undignified yelp.

“Your hands are frigid!”

John laughed. At first Burr looked indignant (which only encouraged the snickers), but he was soon overwhelmed by a rush of affection for his lover. Even if he was the butt of the joke, the sight of John so happy warmed his heart. It was not until John had calmed down that he pressed a small kiss at the corner of John’s mouth.

“Sorry, sorry,” John apologized. He kissed Burr, then apologized again. “I shouldn’t neglect you. I just - the sound you made!”

“Your hands are cold,” Burr protested with a huff. The words made John look thoughtful, and a wicked smirk spread over his face. 

“Lie back down. I have an idea.”

Burr sent him a suspicious look. John’s face gave away nothing. He looked positively angelic in the moonlight, as though not one sinful thought had ever passed through his mind. The sight alarmed Burr. He had learnt John never looked so innocent unless he was trying to do so. It would be foolish to get caught up in one of his ideas this close to camp - but then, it was foolish to be doing this at all, and Burr had no intentions of stopping. He lay back. John straddled his hips and kissed him, licking into Burr’s mouth. At the same time, he rolled his hips against Burr’s. The cold night air should have left Burr’s bared cock shriveled and soft, but his desire for John was evidently enough to overcome that. It helped when John slid a thigh between Burr’s legs, giving him something warm and solid to rut against. He made a low sound of pleasure. John nipped at his lower lip before shifting down his body. The removal of John’s thigh made him sigh with disappointment.

“If you put those hands on me again,” Burr started, but the rest of his sentence fled his mind when John winked at him. He settled his hands on Burr’s lips and leaned in. It took Burr just a moment to realize what John had planned, but that was not enough to prepare him for the warmth of John’s mouth around his length. He let out a gasp. A moment later, Burr realized his eyes had slid shut. Upon opening them, he found John staring up at him with mischief in his eyes as he worked his mouth over Burr’s cock. His mouth felt impossibly warm after the brisk winter air. All thoughts that did not relate to John’s mouth vanished from Burr’s brain as he lost himself in the wet slide of his mouth. 

At first Burr was content to lie back and enjoy himself, but after some time he realized there was one thing about the situation that did not satisfy him. It was not equitable. On a warm sunny day, it would not have bothered Burr: there would have been time enough to repay the favour. But the night grew colder with each passing minute, and every minute spent away from camp heightened their risk. It took Burr some time to put these thoughts together. John was skilled at his art, and it took a great deal of effort for Burr to gather himself enough to tug on his hair.

“Wait. I have an idea.”

Was that his own voice? It sounded so needy and desperate that Burr could scarcely recognize it. He had heard himself like that before, but only after John had made a deliberate effort to drive him mad with need and undo all his will. How had he gone so far so quickly? 

John pulled back, his smiling lips slick and shining with spit. The sight was enough to cause a little twinge of pleasure in Burr’s gut. God, John was handsome. A thousand years could pass, and he would still not understand how he had been so lucky as to win this man’s love.

“You were saying?” John prompted. His voice was rough, but rough enough to disguise the teasing playfulness in his tone. This time the rush of emotion that hit Burr was affection, not arousal, and he could not help but lean forward and kissing John. It did not bother him that John’s mouth had just been on his dick. He kissed him hungrily anyway.

“I have,” Burr said, and kissed him again, “an idea. Turn around.”

“You’ll have to stop kissing me if you want me to do that,” John teased. Burr nipped at his lip in response before pulling back. Taking the hint, John turned around. Burr shuffled down the grass under him until John’s legs were spread on either side of his head. His fingers felt frozen and clumsy, but he managed to unpick the ties of John’s breeches without too much difficulty. John’s cock bobbed in front of his face, and he kissed the tip. John let out a moan.

“You and your ideas.”

“Are you complaining?” Burr asked. He did not wait for a response. Without further ado, he opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around John’s arousal. He focused on the head, teasing the slit with his tongue and licking the sensitive underside. He had enough practice to know exactly what John liked. It was fortunate he knew it so well that it came on instinct, because John left him no space to gather his thoughts. John swallowed Burr down to the root. How he managed to do it, Burr would never know. He always struggled to take John, choking and gagging the first few times until he remembered how to relax his throat and let John press his hips forward until his pubic hair tickled Burr’s nose. This time was no different. John moaned when Burr managed to let him in, and Burr nearly lost it then and there. His thighs trembled with the effort of keeping still. He had not been prepared for how intense this cycle of giving and receiving pleasure would be. Every sound John made caused delicious vibrations around Burr’s length, causing him to whimper and moan around John’s cock. 

Under ordinary circumstances, Burr might have been tempted to draw things out. They could not, no matter how eager Burr was to explore this idea further: the night was cold, and the risk of discovery was too high. He gave himself over to the steadily building pleasure and spilled himself into John’s mouth with a moan. John worked him through it, swallowing around Burr’s dick in a way that made Burr shudder with pleasure. Once Burr’s brain kicked back into gear, he readjusted their position to make his work easier. He focused all his attention on bringing John to orgasm. With Burr’s full attention on him, John did not last long. His nails scraped over Burr’s scalp as he came, biting his lip to keep from crying out loud.

After they dressed in silent efficiency. When they were done, they stood and faced each other. After a moment of silence, Burr’s perfectionism got the better of him, and he reached out and straightened John’s jacket. A compliment was on his tongue, but Burr stopped himself. John did not need to be told he was handsome, no matter how true Burr thought it was. Instead, he kissed his cheek. There was another truth that he needed to hear more, even if it discomforted Burr to admit it allowed.

“We will not be able to share quarters as we did in the city. It is a shame. I have grown accustomed to the comfort of having you by my side.”

John blinked at him, before grinning and slinging an arm over his shoulders. “I’m going to miss you, too. But all’s not lost. We’ll find time to be together.”

Burr nodded in agreement. No matter what challenges they ended up facing, he would make sure he did it with John by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Washington's complete denial of Burr's accomplishment is picked straight from history.


	9. Orientation

The relationship between John and Burr was a strange one, but despite the odds it worked.

Perhaps the most bizarre quirk of their relationship was that they did not attempt to be monogamous. It was not merely a matter of hiding their relationship. The two of them went out with other soldiers to find a woman to take home for the night whenever the opportunity arose. Though it did help keep their relationship a secret, it was habit as much as anything else. Burr was an incorrigible flirt. No matter how content he was with his lot, he was incapable of not making an advance on any pretty woman that passed him by. John teased him for it often. That might have worried Burr, if not for the fact that John soon began to copy his mannerisms with women. The sight amused Burr at first, but then he noticed something else change. John had always had dreadful luck with women. Despite his good looks and skills in the bedroom, he had always struggled to talk to women - but all that changed when he began copying Burr. John was no longer resigned to going home alone, and had picked out his favourites soon enough. He did not seem to be as pleased by this as Burr would have expected, but after puzzling over it for a few nights Burr put the thought aside. 

Aside from the women, John kept discreet relationships with several other men. Jealousy had been Burr’s first response. When John went home with women, Burr did the same, and he did not have to wonder what the woman had that he did not. Men were different. There was a selfish, greedy part of Burr that wanted to keep that part of John all to himself and chase away all competition. That jealousy never disappeared, but it did fade with time and reassurance from John. No matter what he did with anyone else, he loved Burr. Whether or not he found pleasure or company elsewhere did not matter. It was Burr he came home too, time and time again.

Burr never acted on his jealousy. If nothing else, doing so would have marked him as a hypocrite, because John was not the only one with more than one permanent lover. Somewhere along the way Burr had fallen helplessly in love with Theodosia. Their relationship had followed none of the rules for interactions between men and women: she had come to him as an agent of the revolution, and they had parted as lovers. That one night had not been enough. Whenever he had the opportunity to visit the city, he visited her. Burr had found himself turning to her again and again, enamoured by her beauty and intelligence. It was rare for Burr to meet an intellectual equal. Finding one in a woman, in someone with no proper education, forced him to re-evaluate his perception of the entire female gender. If Theodosia could match his wit (best it, sometimes), what might she have done with the same opportunities as he? She was a genius. The idea that he could be loved by someone as brilliant as she astounded him.

 

Burr felt no shame in his split affections. Both Laurens and Theodosia knew of each other, although how much they knew varied. Laurens knew about Burr’s relationships with women from the start. Theodosia figured him out the first time she met John, when both he and Burr were on leave in the city. She did not confront him immediately. She waited until she had Burr vulnerable, naked and relaxed in the dead of night and asked plainly if he had such relations with men. Burr had frozen in place. It had taken every last scrap of courage he had to lift his head from her chest and look her in the eye.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The words were level and calm despite the terror flooding through Burr’s system. He prayed it was a passing thought. If Theodosia had not mentioned her suspicions to anyone, then Burr could still find a way out of this situation. None of the options were options he liked, but it was better than none. He could run. He could bribe her. He could even kill her, although he knew in his heart that was not an option. If it had been anyone else, Burr would have considered it an act of self defense, but he could not bring himself to harm Theodosia: not even to save his own skin. He would submit to the law before he allowed himself to hurt her.

As always, her response baffled him. She smiled, the expression indulgent and soothing, and touched his cheek with one hand. 

“Aaron, dear, let’s not play that game. I’ve seen the way you look at that friend of yours - Laurens, isn’t it? I suppose you could have done worse.”

“Mr Laurens is a soldier in the Continental Army. I am an officer. There is nothing untoward about our relationship,” Burr said. His voice shook this time. It was one thing to face a threat to his own life, but John’s? Surely if anything were to condemn Burr to Hell, it would be allowing harm to come to John. His grand dreams may have been unrealistic, but Burr had no doubt John would achieve great things in his life. Snuffing out that his bright spark would be an act of unspeakable evil. 

“He is a soldier, and you are bedding him,” Theodosia said matter-of-factly. “And I shall say nothing of it to any other soul. It is merely a relief to know find others who are not constrained by sex.”

“You won’t,” Burr said, the words coming out as a question rather than a statement. The wild beating of his heart started to slow to an ordinary pace. Theodosia was no more morally pure than he, but he trusted her word: if she said she would say nothing, then nothing would be said. It took longer for him to process the second part of her statement. Even once the words had parsed, he struggled to understand them. Others? But there was nothing peculiar about Theodosia liking men - unless she was not talking about men. Burr’s eyes widened.

“Oh. You - women?”

“As eloquent as always,” Theodosia said. There was a smile in her voice, and she kissed his cheek. “Yes, me. I would not have recognized the signs if not. Like finds like.”

He stared at her in wonder. It felt as though his brain had been taken offline, and all his quick wit and intelligence had been taken from them. Theodosia and women. There were a million and one things Burr could have said, but they were all overshadowed by the wave of relief that flooded his mind. He was safe. He was better than safe: he was with someone he could trust. There was a joy in being recognized Burr had not even known to crave. 

“I didn’t know women could be like that,” he admitted. He watched as Theodosia’s eyes narrowed, but her expression softened at whatever she saw in the delighted smile on his face. It was rare enough to meet someone with the same proclivities as himself. To find that in someone he respected as an intellectual equal was unheard of. He squeezed her hand. “There is more comfort in the thought than I expected. I do not know why, but I like the idea there may be others like us.”

“That is perfectly natural,” Theodosia told him. “You crave validation as much as any man, although like most you are too stubborn and arrogant to admit it.”

“Like most?” Burr asked indignantly, and they spent the better part of an hour playfully bickering. It was a game, not a fight: Theodosia laughed when Burr was bold enough to mock his own flaws, and both of them avoided any sensitive topics. All the while, a tiny corner of Burr’s brain was dedicated to marvelling at what had just happened. Theodosia knew his most dangerous secret. She could have used it to ruin him, or blackmail him if she so desired, but he trusted her word entirely. If she said she would keep his secret, she would.

Over the next several weeks, Theodosia gave Burr plenty to think about on the topic of sexuality. He had assumed that he was a minority. The vast majority of people felt the attraction that was right and proper between men and women and nothing else. The realm of same-gender attraction was left for a few peculiar souls such as himself, and they were only a small percentage of the population. He had never even considered that women might experience the same thing. Theodosia opened his mind. Whenever she sent him back over the river to the army, he left with his head whirling with theories and ideas.

He thought about it day and night, and before long his thoughts led him to one inevitable conclusion: this was normal. It had to be. How else could one explain how many of them there were? There were too many people following these urges for them all to be damned for this one little sin, if it was a sin at all. Even there, Burr had his doubts. His religious upbringing had been both zealous and brutal, but it had not turned Burr into a pious man. If anything, it had driven him away from his faith. If the church claimed his uncle was a good and godly man, then Burr refused to believe in any vision of the Lord they set forth. In doing so, he had unwittingly given himself leave to question their rules. He counted himself lucky for having such a peculiar branch of faith. If he had been a proper man of God, he doubted he ever would have been able to accept the idea this was normal - let alone John’s claim it could be something good.

He debated such things with Theodosia regularly. She had her own thoughts, formed from the reflections of women she had spoken to throughout her life. She pushed him, forcing him to challenge his assumptions and rethink his position over and over again. If she thought his understanding was lacking, she did not hesitate to tell him. When he finally landed on his final position, he laughed until his sides ached. All his careful, painstakingly slow analysis, and in the end he landed on what John had said when he first broached the topic. 

“You’re right,” he told her. “I don’t understand it. I don’t need to understand it to know that whatever this is, it is nothing to be ashamed of. There is nothing more corrupt in my regard for John than in my love for you; and loving you is undoubtedly the one of best things I have ever done.”

Before Theodosia had a chance to consider his position, Burr closed the small distance between them. “Will you let me do what is right, and love you?”

“You are an incorrigible flirt,” Theodosia told him. She did not laugh, but her mouth curved into a smile. “You almost had an interesting point there.”

“And that point was?” Burr asked. He did not move, but the look he sent her was full of filthy promise. As he had suspected, the intellectual point was abandoned for more fruitful pursuits, and there was very little talk for the rest of the evening.

While Theodosia knew a great deal about John, he did not know half as much about Theodosia. It was not that Burr concealed his relationship. He spoke of her often and with high regard, unashamed to hold a woman in such high esteem. John found his infatuation entertaining. Merely mentioning Theodosia’s name was enough to earn at least fifteen minutes of teasing. At first Burr had suspected the problem to be jealousy, but he soon decided against that. There was too much warmth and good humour in John’s manner for that. Whatever John’s opinion, he did not disapprove. He actively encouraged the relationship, although he never bothered to remember any details about her no matter what Burr shared. The behaviour confused Burr. He mulled over the matter often, until John finally outed himself one night when he had Burr to himself. 

The night in question was cold and dark. The two of them had signed up on a covert mission. There had been a flurry of British activity to the southwest. Burr and John were to observe, and interfere if it seemed wise to them, before returning to Washington’s camp. 

They took longer than was necessary on the journey. Even an ordinary soldier would have been tempted to linger on the trip. There were plenty of inns to visit along the way, providing comforts that were not to be had in their winter encampment: food, drink, and warm beds. Drinking was forbidden in the camp, and after seeing six men whipped for breaking the rules, Burr had lost his taste for liquor. But out on the road, things were different. They could do as they wished. Above all, it offered them a chance to be together. As evening fell, Burr and John found an inn that looked likely to provide all the comforts they desired. Much to Burr’s delight, there was only one room left at the inn. It was a small room, a little separate from the rest, with but a single bed. Burr expressed dismay at the news, asking the innkeeper if anything could be done, but the man had shaken his head. He and John would have to share a room, and a bed. It was not until they were safely alone that Burr grinned at John and reached for his hand.

“That was a stroke of luck. This is much easier than finding an excuse to share a room.”

“I couldn’t believe it when you protested.”

“What else could I do? I had to play the part,” Burr protested. He pulled John’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of his hand. “I will make it up to you after dinner.”

They took their meals in their room. Both Burr and John ate and drank freely, delighting in the rare opportunity to relax. It made Burr think of simpler times, before the war had come to New York. Even if it was just for one night, he relished the chance to spend an entire evening in John’s company. 

The topic of conversation changed throughout the night, but after several drinks, Theodosia’s name came up. John listened to Burr with an indulgent smile before he said seriously,

“She sounds tolerable. You should wed her.”

A curious glow settled in Burr’s chest. There were a thousand problems with the suggestion, but he could not deny the immediate rush of pleasure he felt at the idea. That did not stop him from trying. Lingering on the warm sense affection would only bring him pain and loneliness when he remembered why such a thing was impossible. It was with good reason that Burr had not allowed himself to indulge in the idea before now. He may as well dream of taking her to South Carolina when he followed John there after the war.

“Theodosia is more than tolerable. She’s also married.”

“So? Her husband is a British officer. If the war does not take him by chance, we will deal with it.”

“I’m surprised you are so eager to see me wed,” Burr said. It was a relief to think John supported him, but there was something about the situation that did not sit right with him. There was something he was missing. He was even more sure of his conclusion when John grinned.

“There’s no escaping it. I’d see you wed to a woman of some quality, if you’ve managed to find such a beast.”

Now that John explained himself, Burr saw the problem. He made no attempt to hide the confusion in his voice when he asked, “What do you have against women?”

“Well, they’re pointless, aren’t they? Everyone acts as though they’re handsome, but that’s because none of them want to admit they’d rather be buggering men.”

“Even a woman who is unattractive has worth,” Burr protested. “Given the education available to them, they are remarkably accomplished. I count many women among my close friends. And that is even if one accepts your premise that women are unattractive.”

“You say that as though you don’t.”

“Of course I don’t,” Burr said. John stared at him as though he had proclaimed he believed the sky was green. The niggling suspicion in the back of Burr’s mind solidified into understanding. 

John did not like women.

It explained everything. John had never seemed disappointed when a woman he was chasing rejected him, even if he had complained loudly. For that matter, Burr had never seen him pursuing women in his own time. He had run into most of their mutual acquaintances at some point or other while visiting the city’s brothels - although by silent, mutual agreement they pretended not to recognize each other. The same could not be said of John. He had never seen John flirt with a woman when in private. When he spoke to Burr of his other partners, he always spoke about men. He despised his wife, and often wondered aloud why men would choose to marry for love rather than money or political gain. Based on observation alone, Burr had no reason to think John interested in women: it had only been his assumption of the status quo that had let him be fooled thus far.

As if to prove his point, John’s expression pinched into confusion. “Are you trying to say you think women are attractive?”

Burr nodded. John looked flabbergasted. Beneath the shock, his mouth settled into a hard line, and a new uncertainty crept into his eyes. The fervor and passion Burr was used to had disappeared. The wind had been taken from John’s sails, and he was left stranded and lost. It was the last thing Burr had ever meant to do to John, and he could not shake the guilt tugging at his heartstrings. It only grew worse when John spoke again. His voice was small and soft, barely audible even in silence.

“That’s possible?”

“It is,” Burr said. “Many men, myself included, find women attractive. I believed all men felt as such.”

“Then why are you here?”

There was not just hurt in John’s voice: there was fear, too. Whether the fear was specific to Burr or simply the result of having his entire world view dismantled, Burr did not know. Whatever the case, Burr resolved to be gentle going forward. He smiled and reached for John’s hand.

“Because what you told me months ago was right. This thing between us is something good. My admiration for women does not change my feelings on the matter, any more than your relationships with other men detract from your regard for me.”

To Burr’s dismay, John withdrew his hand and shook his head. “That can’t be right. You’re not an idiot. You’d never put yourself in danger over something like this if you had any choice.”

“If that is the metric we wish to use, then I will freely admit I am an idiot,” Burr said. The words were blunt and more curt than he had intended, but he did not take them back. “I do not see why capacity requires action; nor why indulging one part of my interests should preclude my pursuing the other. None of this changes the fondness with which I regard you. I am the same man you took to bed last night and woke beside this morning.”

“But you’re telling me that men actually like women. That you actually like women,” John said. “Fuck. Everyone?”

“To my knowledge, yes. But I did not realize you did not share the interest. There may be others I do not know about,” Burr said. He waited a moment before standing. He paced the length of the room twice, puzzling over the situation. It struck Burr as ironic. It had taken John time and effort to convince Burr that love between men could exist, and that such love could be pure and good. It was a belief Burr had adopted for himself wholeheartedly. His love for John was no less than Theodosia, and it seemed an insult to both of them if he poisoned the emotion with doubt and shame. It seemed strange that he now had to convince John of the fact. 

At the same time, it was not hard for Burr to see what had John so frightened. John had never known any other sort of love. With no other forms of love to distract him, he had been able to see what Burr had not: that such love was good. The revelation that there were other kinds of love raised the possibility that one might be inferior to the other. It was a dangerous line of thinking. 

With the reasoning figured out, Burr decided to take action. He stepped up behind John and put his hands on his shoulders. 

“John. I do not pretend to know what the nature of love is, but I know it has taken me twice now. Once for a woman who I hold in high regard: she is my equal in every way, save for intelligence, in which she may be my better. The other is you.”

John tilted his head back. His mouth was set into a firm, unhappy line, and Burr could have sworn there were tears in his eyes. “Don’t. Please.”

“I apologise if this has put you in an awkward position. But I will not apologize for my feelings,” Burr said sternly. He caressed John’s face, tracing out the familiar curve of his cheek and rubbing his thumb over his lips. John leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. “I love you. I have neither the desire nor the capacity to change that.”

“What if you should?”

The words were quiet and unexpected enough that Burr took a moment to respond. “I beg your pardon?”

“What if what people say is right, and there is something wrong with us? I’m damned if they’re right, but you have a chance. I don’t want - “

Burr kissed him. The angle was terrible: Burr’s nose bumped against John’s face and their teeth clacked together. Burr took no pleasure in it, but it did what he needed it to do. John fell silent. He stayed silent when Burr pulled back. His eyes were wide with shock, and his mouth hung open a little. For the time being, Burr had the advantage. Anxiety buzzed in his skull. If he could not persuade John their love was good, John would leave, and that was a thought Burr could not tolerate. 

“I want. I am choosing this. John, I am choosing you. Let it suffice to say that I know the risks, and have considered them at length. I love you more than I fear the consequences. Let me show my affection the same way I show my devotion to my country: not with impassioned speeches, but with constant and steady persistence. I would gladly live the rest of my days by your side, if only you will permit me to stay.”

He stepped to the side and took the seat beside John. As John stared, he reached out and clasped John’s hand in his own. The dreadful uncertainty in John’s face broke. Before Burr could decipher what new emotion took its place, John pulled him into an embrace. The hug was so tight Burr felt his ribs creak. After a few moments of being crushed, he squirmed until John released him. He used the extra space to breathe, but otherwise stayed close to John and quietly delighted in the physical contact. If John intended to leave, he would not be holding Burr so tightly. Their relationship was safe. 

Nearly a full hour passed before either of them spoke again. It was John who broke the silence, and his quiet words echoed throughout the small room. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Burr promised. He knew it might be a lie. They were both soldiers, and both risked their lives on a daily basis. He could be killed, or captured, or ordered away at any time.

“You have to marry someone. If you marry -”

“Even if I am fortunate enough to wed Theodosia, it will not affect my feelings for you. Nor will it stop me from acting on those feelings.”

John still did not look convinced, so Burr kissed him. Words would never be enough to convince John, so Burr would have to show him through other methods. Satisfying John’s fears would not happen overnight. It might take months before he settled back down and accepted that Burr was his and intended to remain his, but Burr could handle that. He was willing to wait for John to believe him. In the meantime, Burr would find ways to remind him of how he felt - and he had no shortage of ideas as to how to do that.


	10. Union

Winter was long and hard for the Continental Army. Resources were scarce, and there were few reasons or opportunities for the Americans to celebrate. Drinking, swearing, and all kinds of debauchery were forbidden in Washington’s camp, forcing the men to roam further afield for their baser pleasures. Fortunately, the local towns provided entertainment aplenty. At least once a week, Burr found himself drinking and partying with his fellow soldiers. The exact number and makeup of their gang changed, but there were a few regular faces. Whenever Burr was there, John was too. And wherever John was, Alexander Hamilton could not be far behind.

Despite his initial dislike of Hamilton, Burr found himself thinking of the man as a friend. He blamed John for the change of heart. John counted Hamilton as a dear friend. For that reason alone Burr would have learnt to tolerate the man, but he had surprised himself by going as far as enjoying his company. When they were in direct competition, he and Hamilton had despised each other. He had almost hated him more when he had been forced to hide his work from the man and subject himself to mockery and teasing. But now they met as allies, Burr found he liked him. He was witty, and clever, and all things Burr liked in his acquaintances. He had just two habits Burr found intolerable. The first and lesser of his sins was his ability to distract John with grand schemes and plans that could never work. The two of them together were a recipe for disaster. Every time Burr left them alone for more than an hour, they had managed to land themselves in spectacular trouble. It made no sense to Burr. John may be reckless, but he was also a grown man well into his twenties: nothing like the petulant boy Hamilton was. How Hamilton managed to convince John to join his exploits was beyond Burr - would always be beyond him, because it pained him to contemplate the matter for too long. Thinking about Hamilton and John brought Burr to his other reason to dislike Hamilton, the one he could not get past.

Burr was jealous.

He knew he had no grounds to be. He and John had negotiated their relationship specifically to include the freedom to pursue other partners. Both of them took advantage of it. If anything, Burr took more advantage of it than John, but that did not stop jealousy from aching in his heart every time John smiled at Hamilton. It grew within his chest, twisting and turning his heart to uncharitable thoughts. Burr hated all of it. He hated the feeling, and he hated even more that he could not dislodge it. He had no claim over John. 

There was nothing he could do to stop the feelings, but he did find ways to soothe his injured pride when he had John alone. The selfish need to keep John for himself motivated Burr to push past his own boundaries in a way purer desire had not. He became greedier than ever for John’s touch. The desire for him had always been there, but doubt had held Burr back. How much was too much to ask? How could he ask, when Burr did not even know what he wanted but more? 

When he had not felt threatened, Burr had the time to take it at his own pace. He had moved slowly, exploring the idea of giving affection with caution and deep-rooted apprehension. Now he felt a new urgency. If John did not know how dearly he was loved, he might begin to wonder if there were other men who might be able to satisfy him. Burr would not let that happen. He swallowed his fear and reached for John at every moment, kissing him and indulging him in praise and affection.

At first, John seemed delighted by the change. He had been patient with Burr’s slow exploration of affection, but Burr had not realized how deliberate that patience had been. Not one of his clumsy advances was rejected. John accepted every bit of affection with glee. He returned any romantic gestures tenfold, leaving Burr floundering and lost as he was showered in affection. The affection did not upset Burr, but he had no idea how to respond. Warmth would spread throughout his chest, even as embarrassment made him hide his face against John’s shoulder so John could not see the foolish, smitten smile or the confusion in his eyes. The flood of elation and embarrassment overwhelmed Burr every time. This was unlike anything he had ever known, and he had no clue how to manage it. 

The first few times it happened, John would smile down at him with warm indulgence. After a while, suspicion started to settle into his expression. It lingered through the cold months of winter, but so long as John said nothing, Burr would not bring it up. It was past midwinter before John raised the issue. Burr suspected he had been ambushed. Their entire night had been given over to revelry and pleasure at a ball held in a nearby town. If John wanted his agreement on something, it was the perfect time to ask. The lights, music, and company had all been remarkably pleasant, and it had put Burr in a very agreeable mood. Burr had passed the night with many beautiful women, none of whom he remembered the name of. He had been too busy watching John deliberately and repeatedly approaching women who would reject him, all for the sake of being seen to pursue women. Now that he knew the truth, Burr wondered that he had ever fallen for the ruse. John never went after women who might be interested. On the rare occasions his advances were accepted, he invariably panicked. But it was enough to fool people who were not looking for signs John disliked women, and that was enough to keep the vital lie going. 

They left the ball separately: Burr to walk a young lady home, and John after being publicly rejected and scolded by an irate Angelica Schuyler. By the time Burr hurried over to their agreed rendezvous point, John had been settled for some time. The lodgings he had secured for them were almost luxurious, featuring a large bed piled high with blankets and an enormous fireplace. As much as Burr appreciated the accommodation, it was not his main focus. Inside the fire was crackling merrily, and John himself had removed his boots and coat when Burr let himself in. 

“You were popular with the ladies tonight,” John observed. Burr shrugged and sat beside him. He wasted no time in making himself comfortable, leaning against John and resting his head on his shoulder. Cuddling with John was something he had grown to love. Most of the time his small stature was an inconvenience, but Burr found he enjoyed being short in times like this. It made it easier for John to wrap an arm around him and pull him closer. 

“Is it not the point of such evenings to be popular? It is an enjoyable game.”

“It is more than a game for most people,” John pointed out. Burr made a noncommittal noise. He knew immediately his response had not satisfied John. He felt him tense beside him. More telling was the abrupt halt of the steady pattern of John’s breath as prepared himself for something.

“Is it just a game for you?”

Burr lifted his head to look at John. He let his bafflement show, knowing his next question could otherwise be mistaken for an act. “What else could it be?”

“You’ve been acting differently lately,” John said. His face fell when Burr gave a tiny nod. “I don’t understand. I know you’re not comfortable with how close we’ve been, you always look so damn miserable after.”

“But you like it,” Burr protested, unable to keep the distress out of his voice. “I know you like it.”

“Do you like it?”

Burr stared at him. The question caught him entirely off-guard. Until that point, he had never stopped to consider if it was what he wanted. For John’s sake, he forced himself to consider the question now. He thought about how smooth John’s hair felt when he ran his fingers through it. He thought about how good it had felt when he had spent a morning wrapped in nothing but John’s coat, how it had been almost as good as having the man there himself. Most of all, he thought of the rush of pleasure that came each time he affirmed his affection for John. It was the fear that followed which spoiled it all. A part of Burr was convinced that showing open affection and vulnerability would lead to disaster. It was a part he did not like. He wanted to be someone who could have such a relationship without being crushed by fear. He wanted to be affectionate with John. What was more, he wanted to be comfortable doing so, and Burr did not care how hard he had to fight to get himself there. This was right for both of them. 

After a long silence, Burr had his answer. “I do.”

John raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to say something, so Burr tacked on, “Hear me out.”

John’s mouth snapped shut. The look of suspicion he sent Burr should not have prompted a rush of affection, but Burr was beginning to learn his emotions around John made little sense. It was easier to accept them and let them guide his way through this strange new territory. Right now, they were telling him John needed the truth. Not the whole truth, perhaps (jealousy would not be a comfort to him), but enough of it to understand how much Burr wanted to make this work.

“I’m trying to do the right thing,” Burr said. He stared at the way their fingers entwined together, their hands resting in John’s lap. When had he even taken John’s hand? It was so familiar by now that Burr had not even noticed. For a moment Burr’s mind ran in circles as he chased the thought, before he realized he had been silent for too long. When he looked up, John was staring at him. The suspicion had faded, but there was something in his expression Burr couldn’t name. The uncertainty frightened him more than open disbelief would have; at least that way, Burr would have known what to do. As it was, he could only plow on and hope.

“This way of showing love is unfamiliar to me. I’ve never had anyone treat me the way you do. And I like it - no, more than that. I love it. But it confuses me.”

“You’ve told me this before,” John pointed out. The words were soft and gentle, and Burr wondered if he had already said enough. He immediately decided he had not. At best, John pitied him. That pity would grow tired with time, and frustration would feel all the more sharp in comparison. At worst, John did not realize why Burr was repeating himself. Either way, Burr could not leave things as they were. 

“I've been trying to do the same for you. I pushed myself because I didn’t want to lose you. Then you’d catch me off guard a moment later, and I - “

John’s mouth pressed against his own. Burr let out a little huff. For once, he did not let himself get distracted by the sweetness of John’s kiss. He returned the kiss with all the love and tenderness he could muster, touching John’s cheek with one hand. When John tried to deepen the kiss, Burr pulled back with a smile.

“That’s not going to work this time, dearest.”

At John’s baffled look, Burr had to fight back a laugh. He could hardly blame him for being surprised. As far as he could remember, it was the first time John had failed to distract him when he wanted to. Burr had never even tried to resist before. Even if he held back his laughter, his lips curled into a crooked smile. 

“You can distract me when we are done.”

“You called me dearest.”

It took a moment for the meaning behind the words to sink into Burr’s brain. When they did, he felt a sharp spike of anxiety in his chest. His first instinct was to deny it. Never before had Burr been more grateful for his tendency not to grasp the first idea to cross his mind, because he knew a moment later denying it was the wrong thing. This was exactly what he had needed.

“I did. Is that a problem?”

“That depends. Did - ”

“I meant it,” Burr said, interrupting John. “I love you, John. I want you to know that, even if I do a poor job of expressing it.”

The smile on John’s face was bittersweet. He brought his hands to Burr’s face, one large palm gently cupping each cheek. “I don’t mind if you do a poor job. You don’t have to be good at this. I love you, Burr, and I know you love me. You don’t need to force yourself to do things you don’t want, and you don’t need to change for me. I’m not going to leave you.”

Some levee in the back of Burr’s brain gave way. He had, on some level, known that John would not leave him over this: but until that moment, he had not truly believed it. He had not thought there would be so much power in hearing those words aloud. For once, Burr’s emotions played openly over his face. They came too fast and too quick for him to hide them. By the time his thoughts had caught up with his feelings, a crooked little smile was on Burr’s face. 

“Loving you has made me better. And you have introduced me to pleasures I could not have dreamed of. This tenderness is something I never knew to want.”

“And you’re getting better at saying sweet words,” John told him. Burr turned his head and pressed a kiss to the palm of John’s hand.

“I am getting better at expressing these things. I do not say them for nothing.”

The smile on John’s face was brighter than Burr had ever seen it. His heart warmed at the sight. It was worth battling the fear and dread that came with being openly affectionate when his reward was this. When John kissed him, Burr leaned against him with a happy sigh. There was something comforting about the warmth of John’s body against his, something that went deeper than sex or the cold chill of winter. Even when sated, Burr wanted John close. He could scarcely imagine wanting to stay so close to someone in the heat of summer - but, when summer came, Burr wanted John as much as ever. 

Summer love brought with it a whole new realm of pleasures and discomforts. In the past, warm nights had always prompted Burr to leave his lovers sooner. It was one thing to huddle for warmth in the winter, but Burr had never understood why people chose to share their beds in the summer heat. He much preferred to leave after he had taken his pleasure. He hated the thought of ruining his bed with some stranger’s sweat, let alone the feeling of sweat-slick limbs sticking together. The last thing he wanted on a humid night was extra body heat. Besides, summer brought with it all kinds of distractions. Before the war, summer and meant celebrations and plenty. One could find a new revel every night and all sorts of debauchery, while the summer heat encouraged more daring and revealing fashions. Burr had flitted from ball to ball, finding new partners wherever he went. 

John put an end to that. Burr would still dance and flirt the night away when he could, admiring men in their uniforms and women in their dresses; but at the end of the night, he would slip away and join John in some discreet location just for them. Every night, he delighted in the opportunity to see John. It did not matter how hot it was. It would be a lie to say the heat and stench of sweat did not bother him, but it was not enough to make Burr hesitate. As always, his desire for John outweighed lesser wants. He compromised by complaining at every turn when something displeased him. The first time he let such a complaint slip, he had worried John would take it as an insult, but he had only laughed. 

“You must have been a terror before you had me. How many men did you kick out over something like this?”

Burr told him. After a moment’s reflection, he shook his head and answered a higher, more honest number. Beside him, John burst into laughter. His entire body shook with it, dislodging Burr from where he was sprawled atop of him. The indignant noise Burr made in protest only made him laugh harder. Several minutes passed before John settled down, but even then the grin he wore was bright enough to light up his entire face. The sight was enough to cause a swell of affection in Burr’s heart. He was even more pleased when John reached out for him, pulling Burr back into his previous position. The feel of John’s bare skin against his own was a comfort, even if they were both gross and sticky with sweat. 

“I still say you need to bathe more.”

“Like you’re not gross, too,” John snorted. “If you want me to shower so badly, get off me so I can get up.”

Tellingly, Burr did not move an inch. He was once again sprawled out, half his weight on John’s chest, with the rest on the bed beneath them. It was a position Burr loved. When he rested his head against John’s chest, he could hear the steady thump of his heart. When he looked up, he would look straight into John’s face. Best of all was the feeling of bare skin. Now that the weather was warm, John abandoned his clothes at every opportunity and encouraged Burr to do the same. Burr made no secret of his admiration for John’s body. 

What he did hide were his fears. As the war progressed, Burr could do nothing but watch as John collected scars across his body. They terrified Burr. Each one of them could have killed him - if not outright, than by lingering infection. It was one of the few things they fought about. As a result, they both avoided the topic like it was the plague itself.

Summer brought more with it than sweat and mosquitos. The war raged on in all its brutality, with John and Burr always at the front. Burr was promoted early in the season. Both General Putnam and General Lee had recommended him for Lieutenant Colonel, a fact that made Burr glow with pride. He may not have Washington on his side, but the support of two generals was nothing to sneeze at. 

More surprisingly, summer brought word of Alexander Hamilton’s engagement to Elizabeth Schuyler. John reported the news with genuine shock. 

“If Alexander can get married, miracles can happen. I might get to take you home yet.”

The words made Burr’s heart ache. The smile on his face was bittersweet, and he pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of John’s lips. As the war progressed, it seemed less and less likely they would win. John’s hopes had seemed naive at the start. Now, they sounded more like a fairytale. Still, it was a thought that kept Burr from sinking into despair on nights when victory seemed impossible. Despite knowing it was foolish, Burr clung to the idea. He reigned in his lavish spending and thought of the splendid home he would be able to afford - somewhere nice and out of the way, where his biggest problem would be keeping his two lovers happy. He knew what he wanted was impossible, but he could not stop himself from wanting. 

If Hamilton’s engagement was a surprise, Burr’s invitation to the wedding was inconceivable. It was also undeniable. The invitation sat on Burr’s desk for three days before he opened it. It was a splendid thing, or as splendid as one could get in a war. Miss Schuyler’s family had spared no expense, and Burr recognized the lettering as the finest Hamilton’s hand could produce. Burr was certain the invitation was an empty gesture, and resolved not to go. But when the night came around, he found himself anxious and distracted. However much they bickered, Hamilton was his friend. If he did not at very least stop by and offer his congratulations, it would be a grievous insult. At the last possible minute, he dressed and headed to the reception.

The party was in full swing when Burr arrived. Everywhere, Hamilton’s friends were celebrating his newfound good fortune. The bride had taken up residence at one end of the room, surrounded by her friends and family and glowing with happiness. Burr wished the best for her, although he privately doubted anyone could be happy being tied to someone as quarrelsome as Hamilton. But all reports said Eliza was a kind and patient woman. Maybe she could tolerate him. 

At the other end of the room, there was Hamilton himself. Burr cut his way through the crowd. To his great surprise, Hamilton smiled in ready welcome when he saw Burr’s approach. They enjoyed polite conversation for a few minutes. That they managed to do so was quite a feat, as some of Alexander’s more rowdy guests made a point of teasing and taunting Burr every time he opened his mouth. Burr stubbornly ignored it. 

He was successful in ignoring them until John peeled off from the main group. He stumbled towards Burr. Stumbled was the only word for it: John was so far beyond drunk he could scarcely walk in a straight line. There was a grin on his face that Burr suspected was supposed to be a seductive smirk, but came across as either mocking or lecherous. Burr knew it to be the second; he prayed everyone else would take it for the first. Once he reached Burr, John slid an arm around his shoulders and pulled him against him. Burr had not intended to move, but found himself stumbling back from the sheer force of John’s arm. Across from him, Burr saw Hamilton flinch. To someone who did not know how close Burr and John were, it must have looked even more unwelcome than it was. Before Burr could reassure him, he felt John’s hot breath in his ear as he teased,

“I heard you got a special someone on the side, Burr. What are you trying to hide, Burr?”

If Burr had been uncomfortable before, then John’s words plunged him into a living hell. Fear clenched in his gut. If they got hanged because alcohol loosened John’s tongue too much, then Burr would spend the rest of eternity haranguing him for it. He stood tall and straight as he could and stepped away.

“I should go.”

“No, these guys should go,” Hamilton interrupted. Both Burr and John looked at him in incredulity. Surely Hamilton could not be choosing Burr’s company over his friends. But after several seconds of Hamilton staring at them with a stubborn look, it became clear that was exactly what he was after. John protested, but soon enough he was shepherded away by his companions. Once they were alone, Hamilton gave Burr a look that bordered on sheepish. He did not apologize for John’s behaviour, but he did pour Burr a drink. He handed it over with a smile and a hand on Burr’s arm. It was as much as an apology as Hamilton was capable of.

“It’s alright, Burr. I wish you’d brought this girl with you tonight.”

Burr’s smile was strained. “That’s very kind, but I’m afraid that it’s unlawful, sir.”

“What do you mean?” Hamilton asked. There was a hum of laughter in his voice, and his eyes were bright with curiosity. Hamilton was, at heart, a soldier, and what soldier did not love a good scandal? Fortunately for Burr, he had no trouble thinking up a suitable response. Neither of his romantic relationships were legal. Loving Theodosia would not get Burr killed, but participating in adultery was still a crime. He outlined the situation as briefly as possible. Hamilton’s abrupt curse when he found out the full details of Theodosia’s situation almost made Burr laugh, but he swallowed it back. It rung empty in his chest, hollow and painful. 

He left the wedding with a heavy heart and a mind full of half-formed wishes. It seemed unfair that he should be in love with two people and be able to marry neither. 

Despite the late hour, Burr took the long way home. The summer heat sat heavy over the sleeping city, and Burr found himself reluctant to return to his stuffy quarters. By the time he returned home, even the most enthusiastic revellers had made their way home to bed. Burr was surprised and somewhat alarmed to find that included John. He found his lover in his bed, sprawled out naked on top of the sheets. From the way John had positioned himself, Burr suspected he had been intending on surprising and seducing him, but Burr’s long walk had spared him that fate. John was fast asleep and snoring loudly. 

For once, the sight of John brought no rush of pleasure. He reeked of alcohol, and Burr could only hope he had been subtle making his way here. Judging on his behaviour at the wedding, Burr’s hopes were not high. But what could he do? John was here, and he was safe, and in the meantime that was all Burr could ask for. Despite his lingering anger at John, he rearranged his lover into a more comfortable position. John woke as Burr rolled him onto his side, blinking up at him in sleepy confusion.

“Burr?”

Speaking made the alcohol on his breath stink even worse, but Burr pushed aside his disgust and kissed John’s forehead. There was no need to chastise him now. John would regret his actions enough in the morning.

“Relax. Go back to sleep.” When it looked like John might protest, he added, “I’m going to sleep, too.”

That put an end to John’s argument before it could even start. He instead cuddled up against Burr as soon as he lay down, wrapping an arm around him and hugging him almost painfully tight. 

“I hate weddings,” John mumbled against Burr’s shoulder. Burr patted his hand consolingly. John rambled on for a few more minutes before he fell back asleep, still holding Burr. It took Burr longer to drift off, and when he did his mind was full of twirling dresses and golden rings. It seemed the height of cruelty that Burr could have two loves and marry neither, but that did not stop him dreaming.


	11. Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank Wikipedia for single-handedly educating me on Burr's experiences in the war.

Autumn brought news of death. Jon Bellamy had been shot dead in a nighttime raid on a British supply train.

The letter was delivered to Burr on a sunny afternoon, although he did not get around to reading it until the evening. He had no reason to rush. The air was chill, but the sun was out and Burr’s men were in a fine mood. None of them rushed to return from their patrol, and when they were done they gathered around a fire and whiled the afternoon away with conversation and good humour. It was not until Burr was alone in his quarters that he remembered the letter. He sat at this desk to read and reply to it, pleased at the prospect of finishing such a fine day on an even better note. Three pieces of paper fell out of the envelope: two folded together, and the third with the word ‘sir’ printed in an unknown hand. The sight made Burr’s heart sink. With shaking hands, he picked up the letter.

_Dear sir,_ it started, and that made panic start to catch in Burr’s throat. Jon would never instruct someone to address him as such. A sense of dread settled over Burr, and he knew in his heart what news he would find in the letter. It was enough to make him want to set the letter aside, but he forced himself to read on.

_Dear sir,_

_I regret to inform you that on the morning of October the 27th, Captain Jonathan Bellamy was shot dead by a British soldier. His service to his country was outstanding, and his sacrifice will not be forgotten._

_My friend spoke of you often as a dear friend and trusted confidante. You have my condolences in this trying time. I have enclosed two parts of a letter addressed to you. Though it is unfinished, I believe our departed friend would want you to receive this last correspondence._

At that point, Burr’s vision blurred too much for him to keep reading. His eyes filled with tears. He glanced back at the word ‘dead’, and he brought a hand to his mouth as he took a sharp intake of breath. Horror and grief warred in his body. He did not want it to be true – it couldn’t be true – and yet it was. They had all known the risks of war. It should not be such a surprise, and yet that did not make the loss any easier to process. Burr let out a sob. Once one came, the rest would not be stopped, and Burr did not try to halt them. He wept openly for his friend. The different stages of grief cycled through his body at an incredible pace. One minute he was convinced it was all some vile trick; the next he was filled with rage at the word and God for daring to take Bellamy from him. Through it all, he cried.

By the time he heard the door open behind him, the tears had stopped. He had no energy left for tears. Burr sat still at his desk, staring at the letter with vacant eyes. He did not move as he heard John shuffle into the room. His head ached from the crying, and all the world seemed distant and separate from himself. Burr was so disconnected that he started when John’s arms wrapped around him from behind. Warm lips pressed against the top of his head.

“What’s wrong?”

Burr did not have the strength to speak the words. He passed the hated letter to John. As he did so, he turned to hide his face in John’s face and wept once more. After a few seconds, John returned the letter to Burr’s desk. He wrapped both arms around Burr and held him tight, so tight and close that Burr might otherwise have complained. As it was, he found the overwhelming pressure comforting.

After some time, John pulled away and coaxed Burr to stand. He let John help him dress for bed, and when he pressed water to his lips he drank without question. Not one second of it felt real. By the time he came back to himself, he was in bed, but Burr could not have said how he got there or how long he had been there. John had arranged them in his favourite position for resting: John lying on his back, Burr with his head on John’s chest. Part of Burr’s body sprawled across John, while the rest settled on the bed beside him. Despite the pounding in his head, something like calm spread over Burr. The knowledge that Bellamy was dead sat as a hollow ache in his chest, but he took comfort in John’s warmth beside him. Most sound caused the ache in his head to throb and pulse angrily, but the steady beat of John’s heart soothed him. Whatever Burr had lost, there was still good in this world.

Autumn was hard for Burr, but winter was worse. General Washington led them to winter at Valley Forge, and there the army settled in to rot and die. Burr could see no hope of spring. The men were hungry and sick, and he soon lost count of how many they lost to the cold. They deserted by the dozen, and Burr could not blame them. His sympathy made his job even harder. He had been given command of The Gulf: the only way in or out of the Valley Forge camp. In many ways it was a promotion, but that did not make Burr despise it any less. It was a stationary post, with no chance for battle and glory. What was more, it was political exile. Washington’s hatred of Burr had only grown with time, and he did not hesitate to let it affect his command decisions. When he sent a captain to report to Burr’s command, he seemed to have chosen the most unpleasant man in the army. Captain Abbott's temper was vile, and his language made it clear why Washington hated him. He quickly earned the enmity of the men, making Burr’s job that much harder. But the thing Burr hated most about his post was isolation. With John in the heart of Washington’s camp and Theodosia in New York, Burr was lonely. 

There was one silver lining to his isolation. With limited resources, they had no means to build accommodation for visiting officers. The best they could manage was a small extra bed in Burr’s private quarters, not even a curtain separating them. For most visitors, Burr found it an inconvenience. His exception, of course, was John. John made his way down to the Gulf at every opportunity, seizing any excuse that crossed his mind. It was not long before Burr’s men started to look for him with enthusiasm, as he always brought the latest gossip and often smuggled them small indulgences. None of them batted an eye when he slept in Burr’s quarters. He was an officer, and moreover a friend: where else should he sleep? Those were the nights Burr cherished most. He and John would curl up in the same narrow bed, for once not shivering through the cold winter night. 

There were times Burr worried about getting caught. He may be the ranking officer present, but that would be no protection if he were caught breaking the law. He bought a lock for his door, and made sure to lock it tight every night. It was a habit he kept regardless of whether or not he had guests. His men thought it a strange quirk, but none of them questioned it. Of all the habits their commander could have, an excessive regard for privacy was harmless. 

Over the winter, Burr got to know his men exceptionally well. Those who had been with him from the start formed a tight inner circle, but he was careful to be amicable to every soldier under his command. Anything less would have been irresponsible. As such, he was surprised when a captain under his command started complaining about the conduct of the soldiers. It did not take long for Burr to determine the complaints were unjustified. Captain Abbott was a cowardly man. He did not like the idea that other men might hold more power than him, and he targeted anyone he saw as threatening his influence. The men loathed him, and he loathed them back. Burr wrote to the main camp requesting a replacement, but his request was denied. He was stuck with the bothersome captain for the duration of the season. 

Shortly before midwinter, rumours started to spread that something or someone was stalking their encampment. People heard strange noises in the night. Supplies went missing, and someone found scratches on the back of a door. The first time Burr heard the rumours, the men attributed it to wild animals. Whatever it was, it came at night and terrified the soldiers. Within a month a quarter of the men under his command were claiming it was a werewolf. At that point, Burr knew something had to be done. He waited until the moon had waned almost entirely before taking himself on patrol. He mentioned his plan to no one. The shadows concealed his passage as he passed around the outskirts of the camp. 

When he heard the wailing sound, shivers ran down Burr’s spine. It seemed to float on the cold winter wind, and for the first time he understood the fear of his men. He was certain it was not anything dangerous. If he had thought it was a threat, he would have taken more than just his pistol with him. But there was something about that sound in the dead of night that seemed ominous. 

He traced the sound to the northernmost guard station. It was a long trek from the main camp, far enough to warrant its own small shack as shelter. The lights were on within, and the sound was coming from inside. Burr’s heart hammered in his chest. Someone had clearly gotten into the shack - but if so, where were the men on duty? There should have been two men rostered on guard that night, but Burr could see neither. 

It was impossible to move silent through the snow, but Burr made as little noise as possible as he advanced on the shack. He gave himself a moment to take a deep breath once he reached the door. Only once he had collected himself did he act. He prepared his pistol to fire before pushing the door open and stepping into the doorway. Inside he found the two men on roster, both naked and sweating and caught in a passionate embrace. Both men looked up when Burr opened the door. An icy gale blew behind him, so he stepped fully into the cramped room and let the door click shut behind him. 

“It’s not what it looks like,” one of the men blurted. Burr nearly laughed at that. He was tempted to ask them what else it could be, just to see the excuses they cooked up, but something stopped him. The fear in their faces was too real for Burr to play games. A roll of nausea and dread overtook him when he spared a moment to consider himself in their position. He did not know what he would do in their position. Strangely, he felt more confident about what John would do in that position. For that reason, he kept his pistol up; Burr had no wish to be killed in an act of self-defence. 

“No sudden movements. This does not have to end in bloodshed, but you must trust me.”

“You’re the one pointing a gun at us, sir,” the smaller man remarked. There was something almost petulant in his tone. What was his name again? Rogers, that was it, one of the newer recruits under Burr’s command. Burr considered his options. He wished he had not remembered their names. If he had not, he might have had the courage to do the sensible thing and turn both of them in. The last thing he needed was for there to be gossip connecting his name to sodomy. But remembering Rogers’ name had brought a million other little details to mind as well. He may not be the best soldier under Burr’s command, and they had not served together long, but he was still Burr’s responsibility. Both of them were. After a long silence, Burr lowered his pistol.

“I’m disappointed in you. This was reckless. Foolishly reckless! You must have heard the rumours about the racket you’ve been making - to say nothing of the nature of the supplies you've stolen. By God, did you want to get caught?”

“Sir, I - “

“No, I don’t want to hear it. If you’re going to keep this up, you must learn discretion.”

There was a pause. One of the soldiers looked baffled; the other looked at Burr in wonder. “You’re not turning us in?”

Burr looked to the side. His heart pounded in his chest. “I was never here. If I ever hear any whisper that I was, any hint of a rumour that includes my name, and I will personally see to your execution.”

“That’s it? All we have to do is keep quiet?” the shorter man asked. His partner elbowed him in the ribs, hissing at him not to complain. Burr hid a smile.

“That’s all. So long as you do not remind me of this incident, I shall forget it entirely. And gentlemen? Do take more care in the future.”

Burr did not wait to hear their response. He turned sharply and marched out of the cabin, back into the blistering cold wind. It was reckless, he chided himself. They would wonder why he had been merciful, wonder if perhaps he had a similar secret to hide, and then he would be at risk along with them. He told himself he regretted it, as if he did not have ample time to change his mind and have them sentenced to death or hard labor. But whenever he considered the idea, he could not move past his own hypocrisy. He dreaded the idea of being caught in the same situation. And if he managed to push past that, he would see an image of John’s face before him: disappointed, betrayed, unable to understand why Burr would condemn the men he had caught. Burr had no choice. He would keep this secret.

A few nights passed before Burr told John about the incident. He left no detail out, outlining his own doubts and uncertainties in exquisite detail. As far as he could tell, his intervention had been a success: the noises had stopped, even if the two lovers had not. He tried in vain to explain why he had decided to protect them, but in the end he could not come up with any argument beyond it being the right thing to do. John had laughed.

“That’s the least Burrish thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“But it’s true,” Burr said hopelessly. John nodded. This confused him further, at least until John leaned over and kissed him. He put his doubts aside. He had much better things to focus on now that he had John by his side, and he liked how pleased John was with his decision. 

The knowledge that John was near kept him upbeat and cheerful despite the dreadful conditions. It was the one reliable bright side in his life. As the winter snows deepened, even the mail stopped, leaving Burr cut off from the world outside the camp. On the rare occasion mail from New York made it through, Burr would receive a month’s letters at once. He came to hoard and ration his letters from Theodosia carefully, allowing himself just one a day. Even on the coldest of days, a visit from John or a letter from Theodosia was enough to warm Burr’s heart.

Things were harder for the soldiers under his command. Burr watched them sink deeper into despair with each passing day, with no clear end in sight. They had no food, no heat and no medicine. The only thing they had an abundance of was contempt for Captain Abbott, and not a day went past without Burr wishing he could be rid of the man. Despite the dead of winter around them, Abbott found work for the men to do. The tasks were menial, often difficult and sometimes even dangerous. He assigned them without an explanation or reason, demanding obedience on rank alone. When questioned by Burr, he admitted the tasks were entirely to keep the men busy enough that they would not be able to gossip and spread dissent. Burr called the exercise ludicrous and ordered him to stop. He did, for a little while; but within two weeks, Abbott had started his lunacy again. Burr had had enough. When John next visited, Burr sent a letter back with him informing central command of the situation. Within weeks, Burr would be rid of him.

John had scarcely left the camp with the letter before one of Burr’s men attracted his attention. Burr turned to look at him. It was Rogers, one of the two he had caught having sex, and for one dreadful moment Burr wondered if he, too, had been caught. But no, the more he looked at Rogers, the less likely that seemed. The man was apprehensive,but there was nothing smug or accusatory in his gaze. If anything, he looked frightened.

“Walk with me,” Burr instructed, and started to march back towards his quarters. Rogers followed close on his heels. As they walked, Burr spoke to him about trivial things: the mail, the rare warmth of the sun, John’s promise to smuggle them tobacco next time he visited. When they reached his quarters, he held the door open for Rogers and locked it shut behind them.

“Now,” Burr said. “You had something you wished to say?”

Rogers took a deep breath, visibly bracing himself for what was about to come. “Some of the men are planning a mutiny.”

Burr stared at him. There was no sign of deceit in Rogers face, and Burr was not as surprised as he should have been. He had not known things were this dire, but he would have to have been a fool to think his soldiers were content. He had heard the whispers. There had been countless attempts at mutiny in other outposts around Valley Forge: it was hardly surprising it should take his camp, too. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You did right by us, sir,” Rogers said. “If it was just Captain Abbott they were after, I’d keep my mouth shut. But not you. Not after what you did.”

Burr smiled. After all the time he had spent worrying that his decision would cost him his life, and here it had turned out to save him. There was a lesson in there, he thought. It was something to consider later, once the danger was past.

“This is something I can’t ignore. Tell me everything.”

It took over an hour for Rogers to share everything he knew. The discontent had been growing for months and ran deeper than Burr had ever realized. The captain had been relentlessly bullying anyone he knew could not defend themselves, and hid his assaults from all others. As a result, the men loyal to Burr had been left alone. Anyone who had served with Burr prior to his current post had no reason to believe Captain Abbott was worse than any other bad captain. They were just as ignorant of the planned mutiny as Burr had been. 

As for those who intended to mutiny, the sentiment was largely driven by three men. They had spread the word through the ranks, making sure none of Burr’s friends caught word of what was happening. Once they had enough recruits, they would slaughter the rest of the encampment in the dead of night. Ordinary soldiers were to be killed quickly; officers would not be so lucky. After that, the mutineers would steal all they could and flee from the camp. It was a solid enough plan, and Burr shuddered to think how close they had come to succeeding. 

That very night, Burr put the mutiny down. The soldiers still loyal to him captured and imprisoned the three ringleaders before dawn, plus seven more who fought back. Two others were killed in the confrontation. Protocol demanded interrogation, but Burr did not bother with that. He made them as comfortable as he could for their final hours. Shortly before dawn, he walked down to the cells with a bottle of fine brandy he had been saving for a special occasion. The men were gathered together in a single cell. They had been stripped of their uniforms, but they had been given additional blankets to counter the cold. Burr pulled a chair over to the barred door and took a seat. One of the men eyed him suspiciously.

“Come to gloat?”

“I won’t apologize for your sentence, but I regret that it came to this,” Burr shook his head. He passed two gifts into the cell: the bottle, and his personal bible. “I can’t give you a last meal. Our rations are stretched thin enough as it is. And we have no priest: I wish you could have peace before the end. But this is better than nothing.”

The execution was a quiet affair. Each man was given ten minutes of privacy with a friend and the bible before being taken out to the gallows. The process was as dignified as possible. Although the soldiers were assembled to watch, Burr did not give a grand speech condemning them. He shared his dismay that things had come to this, and his hope that such a thing would not happen again. He outlined the reasons he had for convicting them before condemning them to die. He closed with a verse from the bible. It was a verse he had never heard as a child, one promising forgiveness and peace in death.

Of the ten executions, one failed to produce a clean kill. Nine men had their necks broken by the noose, but one was left hanging and suffocating. Pitiful panicked sounds came from his throat. It would take minutes to die like that, and it would be a slow death. It took Burr only a moment to decide to interfere. He drew his pistol and stepped forward. He was no marksman, but even he could hit his target at point blank range: the bullet struck the prisoner clean between the eyes. The man’s suffering was ended.

Burr did not leave the bodies dangling after they were done: he had them taken down and wrapped in their uniforms. They could not bury them in the cold winter ground, so Burr ordered a new building to act as a mausoleum. As soon as the ground thawed, they would be buried with all the proper honours and ceremonies associated with them. In the meantime, the cold would preserve them.

When John rode into the camp a week later, Burr did not delay in telling him what had happened. Burr had not expected him to take the news well, but he found himself surprised by just how horrified John was. Once John had him alone, he interrogated him on the issue. It was not until John had him wrapped in an embrace that he admitted the real problem.

“You could have been hurt. You could have died.”

“I’m a soldier, my love. I could die at any time.”

“No,” John said firmly, hugging him tighter. “I can’t lose you, Burr.”

Burr smiled. He tucked his face into the curve of John’s neck and cuddled close. “I’m here. I’m safe. And so long as I have any say in it, you’re not going to lose me.”

John grumbled under his breath. He made no more complaints, but he did not let go of Burr for the rest of the night.


	12. Decimation

As winter melted into spring, Burr’s mood lifted. Stuck at Valley Forge, he had been able to do nothing to advance his goals. There was no glory to be won in gatekeeping, and Washington would eat his own hat before he acknowledged any of Burr’s accomplishments. Things were different in the field. He could join General Putnam, or conduct his own raids across the country side. The soldiers by his side would be his own, hand-picked for their skills and loyalty. The only constraint on his actions was his own preferences. With Theodosia in New York and John in Washington’s camp, Burr never wandered far form New York without compelling reason.

Compelling reason came in the height of summer. The British army was on the move through New Jersey. The route they had chosen was vulnerable, their entire army strung out in a thin line. It was the perfect sight for an ambush. All available units were ordered to join General Lee to prepare for the attack; Washington himself would bring up the rear, providing the heavy guns and cavalry support that would let them scatter the British retreat. It was, like all Washington’s plans, ambitious. But it was a solid plan. For once, Burr was not lying when he smiled and said he thought the General’s plan was flawless. Burr and his men marched east with great enthusiasm.

General Lee took an immediate liking to Burr. He remembered him from New York, and quietly confided in him that any enemy of Washington was a friend of his. The words alarmed Burr. He protested that Washington was not his enemy, but an admirable commander whom Burr was honoured to serve. Lee did not believe him. His certainty frightened Burr, for more reasons than one. On a personal note, he was alarmed by the prospect that Washington considered him an enemy. If that was the case, Burr may as well resign his commission now and start a new life on the European continent. But what worried him more were the implications for the military as a whole. Lee was Washington’s second in command. Discord between the two of them promised chaos at best and an outright power struggle at worst. Neither would be good for the Continental army.

Whatever Burr’s concerns were, he had no time to fret about them that night. He spent the evening with his men, keeping their spirits high and ensuring they were prepared for the coming battle.

When dawn came, Burr found his unit had been assigned to the vanguard. It was an honour, to be sure, and Burr felt his spirits lift a little at the news. If the ambush was successful, they would be able to disrupt the British line before they managed to prepare a single shot. It was an outstanding opportunity. Burr navigated his men into position on a hilltop, concealed by the forest around them, and waited for the command to attack.

There was no feeling Burr knew quite like ambushing an enemy. He had done it half a dozen times that summer alone, and he was never quite prepared for the reality of the situation. The chaos in the first few seconds was incomparable. Burr’s first victim died before knew he was under attack. His second victim died with a hand on his bayonet; the third went down after having fired only a single shot. 

From there, the real fight began. Burr was merciless in combat. He did not need to be a steady shot in such close quarters: he took on enemies close to him, leaving the sharpshooters in his unit to cover those farther away. It was fortunate Burr did not need a steady aim: as the battle wore on, he found himself less and less capable of fighting. The heat seemed to close in around him. It had seemed unbearable before the battle even began, but that was nothing compared to the temperature in the thick of the fight. So many fighting and sweating and dying generated enough heat that Burr felt like he was suffocating. Sweat dripped down his forehead. He felt a sharp pain behind one eye, and his head started to spin. A migraine set in as the battle wore on. Burr’s hands trembled whenever he raised his gun, and he started to wish a bullet would shatter his skull and end the pain.

As the battle pressed on and Burr’s men fatigued, he started to wonder where their reinforcements were. The British gave a shout of excitement, and advanced with renewed enthusiasm. Burr chanced a look behind him and felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. The men at the back of the line were scrambling back up the hill in retreat. British soldiers closed in behind them, creating a thick line of scarlet between Burr and the rest of the army. They were surrounded.

Panic started to claw in Burr’s chest. He ordered his men into a defensive formation, forming a tight circle. A few meters away, he saw the other abandoned units doing the same in a desperate bid to defend themselves. What good it would do, Burr couldn’t say. With no reinforcements coming, there was no point in trying to hold out. They would be slaughtered either way. All Burr could do was rally his men to have hope for as long as possible and pray for a miracle. If a miracle was to come, it would have to come quickly. With Burr’s men surrounded on all sides, they were dropping like flies. Burr could only watch in helpless rage as his friends were slaughtered before his eyes. As their numbers decreased, they were less and less able to protect wounded soldiers. Burr himself had a bullet scrape his side, leaving a large gash behind it. He was the lucky one: the same bullet travelled on and lodged in the spine of the man behind him.

When their numbers had halved, Burr sank into despair. He began to consider his options. If they surrendered, what would happen to them? If Burr was lucky, he might be able to negotiate safe passage for his men; if they were unlucky, they would be tormented before facing execution. Or, worst of all, the British would not accept their surrender. They would be slaughtered on the field and die with shame in their heart. No, Burr could not tolerate that. His mind turned to thoughts of suicide until he heard a shout. Before he could wonder what it was, a brown blur rammed through the British soldier less than a foot ahead of him. Burr blinked. He looked up to see what had happened and gave a shout of joy.

Reinforcements had come.

The blur Burr had seen had been a horse, trampling British soldiers underfoot as the cavalry charged through the British soldiers. They cut a tight path around the surviving patriots, clearing space for the survivors to join together and reform the lines. At the head of the cavalry, John and Hamilton rode neck and neck. If not for the cheers of his men behind him, Burr might have thought he was hallucinating. Even in Hell itself, he was struck by how beautiful his lover was. The sun seemed to set John’s hair aflame, glowing around his head like a halo. Even from this distance, Burr could see the smile on his face as he destroyed his enemy.

“Sir,” one of Burr’s men said. “Should we retreat?”

The path for retreat was clear now. When Burr looked up the hill, he could see a stream of blue charging in to fight. But it would take them time to reach Burr’s position and set up the lines. In the meantime, Burr’s unit was one of the few things holding the British back and allowing an advance. If they retreated, the advancing force would be at risk. Worse, they would leave the cavalry unsupported. He pointed to where John led another charge, now doubling back towards Burr to take on the soldiers at their flank.

“If we retreat now, we leave them unsupported. I’ll be damned if I do to them what those cowards did to us. We fight.”

The rest of the battle passed in a daze for Burr. They lost two more men before the reinforcements on the hill arrived. Once they had a clear route to safety, Burr ordered the wounded to be carried to safety. He did not join their retreat. He fought on despite his injury and the pounding in his head. He vomited twice. The second time, his body started to retch, but there was not even a drop of liquid left in his body to bring up. His remaining men closed in around him, shielding him from the British lines. Burr wanted to protest, but he could scarcely stand. An awful tingling feeling spread through his extremities, and his head span. The world faded to white in front of him, and that was the last thing Burr knew.

Burr was awoken by a sharp kick in the side. He shot upright so fast his vision faded and he very nearly passed out again. His hearing returned before his vision, and what he heard soothed his fears. The battle’s events may have given him a special hatred for General Lee, but he was a part of the Continental Army. Burr was not in battle or a British prison. He was safe. He heard Lee swear at him, and then repeat himself with anger in his tone.

“I said get up, Captain. I have a task for you.”

Burr stared up at him, incredulous. Of all the soldiers in the camp, why did the General have to choose him? But Burr could not disobey direct orders. He stumbled to his feet and did his best to ignore the way the room span before his eyes.

“Meet me outside, Captain.”

Once the general had left, Burr gave himself a moment to collect himself. He found water by his bedside and drained every drop. That cleared the worst of the haze around his mind, although his head still ached. Now that he was able to think, he looked around for clues as to what had happened to him. Wounded and dying men lay in neat rows around him. The dirt beneath them was soaked with blood, but every wound he could see had been cleaned and bandaged. This was an infirmary, or what passed for one in the army. Burr’s belongings were in a box at the foot of his bedroll. Someone had fetched a clean uniform for him, and there was a letter along with his flask and pistols. The letter contained no good news. It was from one of his surviving men, informing him of the outcome of the battle and the sum total of their losses. Less than half of Burr’s men had survived the fight. Of those who were alive, one was not expected to survive a week, and six more had injuries of some description. Tears stung the corners of Burr’s eyes. He wiped them away and tucked the letter into his breast pocket. It was hard not to blame himself, but Burr closed his eyes and reminded himself he was not the one who had ordered a retreat.

He found Lee outside the tent. The general looked to be in a foul temper, and Burr hoped he felt as dreadful as he looked.

“What do you need, sir?”

“Come with me.”

As they walked away from the camp, Lee explained the situation. Someone had challenged Lee to a duel, and he needed someone persuasive to act as his second and persuade the man to stand down. Burr felt his head pound a little harder at that. He hated duels, but in that moment he hated Lee even more. But whatever Burr’s personal feelings on the matter were, Lee was still a general. Burr had no choice but to obey. He followed Lee to the duelling ground with a heavy heart, trying to figure out a way out of this situation. 

“There’s the brat,” Lee said suddenly, pointing across the duelling ground. Burr’s heart sank. John and Hamilton stood side by side, their expressions grim with cold fury. John alone might have listened to Burr, but the two of them together never would. Fear started to rise in Burr’s chest, catching in the back of his throat and making his breath come in short, panicked bursts. When he stepped out to sue for peace, it was Hamilton who stepped forward to meet him. Hamilton, then, was the second: John would fight Lee. With all the training Lee had, Burr would be stunned if he was anything less than an expert marksman. Burr forced himself to halt the train of thought there. He would not let John die today, no matter what the cost. 

He spoke as persuasively as he could with Hamilton, all but begging him to halt the duel. But when Hamilton’s temper snapped, when he asked Burr to justify all the lives lost at Lee’s command, he could not. Flashes from the previous day passed before his vision. He could still see Hamilton, and just as clearly he could see his friends fighting and dying around him. No, he could not insult their memory by defending Lee. The duel would proceed.

Lee did not seem pleased by the news. He tossed his pistol and a bag of powder at Burr. “Ready my shot. I’ll strike him right between the eyes, you’ll see.”

Bile rose in the back of Burr’s throat. “Yes, sir.”

Lee turned his back on Burr, staring across the duelling ground towards Hamilton and John. Burr looked down at the pistol in his hands. In an instant, a plan crystallized in his mind. It was illegal, and at best amoral, but since when had that stopped him? Burr may not be a good shot, but he had educated himself on the design and construction of guns. It was an easy thing to knock a few key components out of place so the gun would not trigger. Just to be sure, he mixed dirt into the powder before he used it. He may not be able to stop the duel, but he would not let his lover die. 

By the time Lee turned around, Burr had finished ramping the ruined powder into the pistol. He handed the weapon over with a smile. “Godspeed, sir.”

Lee and John met in the middle of the dueling ground. As they talked, Hamilton made his way over to Burr’s side. He did not seem content to sit and watch. If anything, he seemed preoccupied with Burr, glaring at him with more than the usual venom. Burr sighed. His head was pounding, and the awful dizziness was starting to pull at his mind again. All he wanted was for John to kill Lee so he could go back to sleep.

“Can I help you?”

“You’re meant to be John’s friend. Why the fuck are you here for Lee?”

“General Lee outranks me. I can’t disobey direct orders.”

“Bullshit,” Hamilton snorted. “Lee was dismissed last night, so try again.”

Burr’s jaw dropped. The words echoed through his mind, and he felt an indignant swell of rage. His shock must have shown on his face, as Hamilton’s own expression softened.

“You didn’t know.”

Before Burr could answer, a single gunshot rang loud and clear through the morning air. John stood tall, proud and unharmed. Opposite him stood Lee, doubled over in pain and clutching his side. For the first time that morning, the smile on Burr’s face felt close to genuine. This was justice. A beat later, he had the smile hidden behind a mask of concern. Leaving Hamilton gaping at the transformation, he walked to Lee’s side and surrendered on his behalf. There was nothing he could say so publicly to explain his presence to John, but his face must have given him away. He watched John’s expression shift into savage delight. His voice dripped with arrogance in a way caused a rush of heat through Bur’s body.

“I’m satisfied,” John said. He winked at Burr as he walked past him to where Hamilton stood in shock. “Let’s ride.”

Beyond them, Burr saw three figures rapidly approaching. Even at this distance, it was hard to mistake Washington’s hulking form. Hamilton and Laurens had barely mounted their horses when Washington rode in with an expression like a thundercloud. Burr, for once, was grateful Washington disliked him. He was dismissed with an order to take Lee to the medical tent, and he was grateful for the excuse to bolt. 

The doctor on duty at the medical tent was appalled to see Burr and Lee stagger in.

“You are supposed to be in bed,” he protested.

“General Washington sent me to get a medic for General Lee,” Burr said, and after that point he was quite forgotten. The doctors rushed to Lee’s side, fretting over the state of his wound and muttering about the cost of duels. Few of them seemed to care for Lee in particular after the previous day’s battle, but they showed proper concern and conduct when managing his injury. Burr used the fuss to slip away. He staggered through the makeshift camp set up by the survivors of the previous day’s disastrous attack. It did not take him long to find his own unit. He knew the quirks and preferences of his unit well enough that he found their section of the camp without trouble.

Less than half the former strength of his unit sat gathered around a campfire in the weary dawn light. When he stepped into the circle, they jumped to their feet. One soldier, a sergeant who had been with Burr since the start of the war, rushed over. He wrapped an arm around Burr’s shoulder, the other hand resting on his chest to steady him.

“Easy, sir. The doctors said you’d be abed for another day yet. I can’t believe they let you out.”

“I let myself out,” Burr said. He watched some of the soldiers exchange concerned looks. The sergeant by his side helped him to sit down, then started barking orders at his fellow soldiers. In a matter of minutes, Burr had a mug of tea in his hand and a bowl of porridge resting in his lap. The soldiers set up his tent as he ate breakfast. Every time he drained his flask of water, it was replaced by a full one.

Not long after breakfast Burr began to feel sleepy. He announced his intention to go to bed and stood up. His head rushed. The pain in his head went from a dull throb to a blinding, stabbing pain through his eye, and the next thing Burr knew he was on the ground. He flushed with humiliation. It was bad enough that he had collapsed, but it seemed worse to do so in front of his men. They were supposed to rely on him. How could they trust him to keep them safe if he could not even hold himself upright? But there was no judgement or laughter forthcoming. Many of them begged him to return to the medical tent, but when he refused, they helped him to his own tent without complaint. There he lay down and hoped rest would cure him of the pain and dizziness that haunted his mind.

The sound of a hushed conversation outside his tent woke Burr two hours later. He had just made up his mind to complain about the noise when it stopped; seconds later, John Laurens entered the tent. The flush of victory was gone from his face. He sat by Burr’s bedside with anxiety writ large all over his face, even when Burr smiled at him and took his hand.

“Your men are worried about you.”

Burr looked at him in baffled confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Some of them pulled me aside when I walked into the camp. Something about you refusing to see the doctors?”

“I’m fine,” Burr grunted. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, ignoring how the motion made his head ache and throb once more. He also noticed a sharp pain in his side. Of course, Burr thought, he had entirely forgotten he had been wounded. He glanced back at John, wondering if he had caught the small wince that had flickered across Burr’s face. Judging from John’s expression, he had seen more than that.

“I’ve heard otherwise. You refused to retreat with the wounded yesterday, despite being injured. You’d be dead if your men hadn’t insisted on carrying you back after you collapsed.”

“I collapsed?” Burr asked, his brow furrowing as he tried to remember. He remembered the heat and the stench of battle. He remembered the fear and the feeling of his uniform soaked with sweat and blood. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not remember leaving the battle. The last thing he remembered was the world spinning before his eyes. That explained why none of his soldiers had been surprised when he had fainted outside: this was not the first time he had fallen down in front of them. He felt another rush of shame.

The entire time he thought, John watched him with worried eyes. His expression darkened by the minute until finally he said,

“I should have killed Lee when I had the chance.”

Burr hummed his agreement. “We all make mistakes.”

“You were his second,” Laurens said. There was an undercurrent of hurt in his voice, and the words sounded like an accusation. Rather than answer, Burr turned his head and pulled John’s hand to his lips. John pulled his hand away. Burr stared at him in baffled hurt, unable to comprehend why John would reject him.

“You were his second,” Laurens repeated, and the hurt was no longer an undercurrent. The pain and anger choked him, making his words tight and short. “For Gods sake, you loaded his fucking gun for him. You knew it was me on the other end and you still did it for him.”

Despite the agony in John’s expression, Burr smiled. “I did.”

“And if he’d pulled the trigger?”

“I’m absolutely certain he did. You can’t seriously think I let him walk out there with a functioning pistol.”

Much to Burr’s disappointment, no understanding dawned on John’s face. He stared at Burr in complete bafflement.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Burr said, staring John down. “He asked me to prepare his gun for the duel. I did. I made damn sure that gun couldn’t fire, John.”

The shock on John’s face nearly made Burr laugh until he realized what it meant. His own expression crumpled. John was surprised. Nausea rolled through Burr’s stomach at the very idea, this time emotional as much as physical. 

“You thought I’d done it.”

“I shouldn’t have,” John said. “I thought I saw - but I should have known better.”

“Yes. You should,” Burr said, the words curt and cold. His tone did not stop John from caressing his cheek with calloused fingers, nor from brushing his lips against Burr’s in a tender kiss. Burr gave in at the kiss. He was angry at John: furious, even, and that was without accounting for the emotional pain that threatened to tip into despair. But they had no time to waste on fighting. After seeing so many of his friends slaughtered, Burr was uncomfortably aware of his own mortality. If his time in this world was to be limited, he refused to spend it in conflict with the man he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those of you who've left kudos and comments, y'all are literally the only reason I'm finishing this.


	13. Expectation

Over the next week, Burr began to recover from the battle. 

The wound in his side proved to be as trivial as a bullet wound could be: it healed cleanly, and there was no sign of infection as it mended. It left a thin scar curving over his side. The mark never troubled Burr, but it did seem to bother John. Every time he saw it the brightness in his eyes dimmed, and Burr had to work to distract his lover from whatever thoughts haunted him.

The remnants of the heat sickness took longer to heal. His mind was sharp and clear within a week, and the trembling had stopped in two. The headache faded, but never left. He might steal a few precious hours where he did not notice the pain, but the steady ache was incessantly present. He woke up with a headache. He went to sleep with a headache. That much alone, Burr might have learnt to accept, but there was a much more serious concern that refused to leave him. The fainting did not stop. There were some triggers Burr learnt to recognize. He made sure to be slow to stand if he had been resting too long, and more than one of his friends teased him about his sudden reluctance to drink. The rest of the fainting spells seemed to be pure luck. He could discern no pattern, which made them almost impossible to conceal.

For two months, Burr tried to hide his sickness. He only fainted twice in front of John, and managed to pass both cases off as pure exhaustion. It was harder in public. The soldiers who had been with Burr at Monmouth figured him out almost instantly. None of them said a single word about it, except to deny that anything was wrong. They covered for Burr’s absence with a wide-ranging variety of excuses with great success. The soldiers newly transferred to Burr’s unit (mostly remnants of other decimated units) had no idea anything was wrong with the colonel they reported to, and Burr’s superior officers knew nothing. But as time passed and the malady showed no signs of healing, Burr knew he could not keep this up indefinitely. 

When his cover was finally blown, it was not a stranger that caught him. He was in bed with John, having managed to secure genuine privacy. The two of them had an entire building to themselves, and Burr made the most of the opportunity, flirting and teasing with John all night. Nights like this were rare, but Burr loved them. As enjoyable as it was, Burr made sure to let genuine affection come through as well as his more suggestive remarks. Over the years (and it had been years now, a thought that made Burr’s head spin when he lingered on it) he had learnt exactly what John needed to be happy. 

By the time they went to bed, both men were impatient with desire. John’s hands were a little rougher and greedier than usual; Burr encouraged it. He moaned and sighed at all the right times, watching John with hooded eyes. Once he was confident he had the level of attention he desired, he parted his thighs invitingly. Even now, years after they had first slept together, John looked at him with awe and open hunger. It was a look Burr never tired of. He loved how much John wanted him, and Burr did everything he could to encourage the attention. John seemed to feed off Burr’s attention in turn, teasing him until he was no longer in control of the whimpers and pleas he let out. His pleasure built and built until he felt a rush of blood and -

\- and the next thing Burr knew was darkness and a familiar pounding in his head. He gave himself a moment to lie still. As he did so, he noticed several things that marked this fainting spell as different. Most obviously, he was naked. There was a slight ache in his rear, unsurprising given what he had been doing when he had fainted. That train of thought led Burr to the most concerning observation: someone was crying. He opened his eyes to find John was the culprit. For a moment, Burr could only gape at him. John was kneeling beside the bed, hunched over Burr’s chest and letting out the most heart-wrenching sobs Burr had ever heard. His tears fell hot against Burr’s chest. Burr struggled to think of what could put John in such a dreadful state, and he felt a surge of panic. He reached out and touched John’s shoulder. To his befuddlement, John flinched at the touch. He did not look up until Burr said,

“John? Beloved? What’s wrong?”

John stared at him like he had seen a ghost. He sniffed and wiped his tears away on the back of his hand. He then grasped at Burr’s shoulders. His hold was tight enough to be painful, but Burr just watched in silent confusion.

“It’s going to be alright,” John soothed, and kissed Burr’s forehead. Despite his attempt to sound calming, his voice and hands shook. “We’ll get you cleaned up, get you to the doctor. No one needs to know what we were doing.”

The words triggered memories in the back of Burr’s mind. He remembered several things at once: the feel of John inside him, the steady build of pleasure, and the sudden rush of darkness when he passed out. Burr felt himself flush. He groaned, covering his face with one hand. 

“Of all the times to pass out -”

He stopped abruptly. When he dared peek past his hand, he saw John staring at him in confusion. Something twisted in Burr’s chest. He had fainted, and judging from John’s distress he had assumed the worst. Worse, he thought he had something to do with it. There was nothing Burr could do but confess. 

“I don’t need a doctor. I’ve already spoken to them about this, and there’s nothing they can do. Ever since I lost consciousness at Monmouth, I’ve been fainting a few times a week.”

Much to Burr’s dismay, John did not look reassured. “This happens often?”

“Often enough.”

Some of the anxious energy left John’s frame, but the tense unhappiness did not leave his expression. He allowed Burr to coax him into sitting on the bed beside him. It was a vast improvement over kneeling beside the bed, and it let Burr press the length of his body against John’s. He knew he took comfort in feeling John safe and warm next to him; surely John would feel the same.

“I didn’t know what to do,” John admitted in a small voice. “I wanted to get help, but I couldn’t, it-”

The pitch of his voice rose towards the end as memory of the panic seized him. Burr soothed it by kissing whatever skin he could reach and looking up at him.

“No. You couldn’t. It’s not worth the risk of being caught.”

John nodded glumly. He ran his hand up and down the length of Burr’s spine. The touch left Burr’s skin tingling. It was a pleasant sensation, unlike the pounding in his head, and he let out a soft murmur of content. The noise was as strategic as it was genuine. John would not stop looking at him with that awful, guilty look, and Burr was willing to do whatever was necessary to soothe him. It was not as though it were a hardship. Cuddling and soaking up the affection no longer seemed alien to Burr. He relished every moment he was able to spend close to his lover, to the point that John often teased him about how affectionate he was when they were alone. 

Half an hour later, John’s anxiety had subsided - but the stubborn guilt in his expression was still there. Burr had had enough. The pain in his head had finally started to fade, and it was time for a conversation. He lifted his head and looked John in the eyes. 

“John. I’m right here. I’m not hurt, and I’m not in any danger - you can look me over if you want,” Burr told him. He gave John an encouraging little smile and kissed the corner of his lips. 

“You’re sure you don’t need a doctor?”

“I have everything I need right here,” Burr said. That earned a weak chuckle from John.

“You always were a flirt.”

“Are you complaining?”

The laugh he got in response to that was stronger the than the last one. The sound warmed Burr’s heart. He could not guarantee things would continue to go their way, but for now, with John happy beside him, Burr was content.

Three days later, the pair rejoined the main force of the army. Burr made his way straight to the command tent to tender his resignation. It took all his courage to do so. Shame prickled down his spine, and he cursed the fact that he had to admit his weakness to General Washington - a living legend who already despised Burr. Despite all Burr’s accomplishments, the general’s opinion of him had not changed one bit. He sighed when Burr came in.

“What do you want?

“I’m here to turn in my commission, sir.”

“I wasn’t aware we had any commissions ending in mid August,” Washington said coolly. He did not even bother to look up from the correspondence he was writing. Humiliation burned hot in Burr’s chest. That he had to admit his weakness was bad enough. That the general would not even feign civility made it worse; and, to top it all off, he spied Hamilton working by his general. He could not have conjured a more perfect humiliation if he had tried. Despite the shame, Burr kept his voice level when he replied,

“It’s not due to expire until December. I had intended to renew it at first opportunity, but my situation has changed.”

Washington put his pen down. He looked up at Burr, his expression cold and unsympathetic. “I don’t care what personal matters you have. The fate of our nation is at stake. You’ll serve until your commission is up, or you’ll be charged with desertion.”

“With all due respect, sir, that’s not an option. My concern is medical - a result of heat sickness at Monmouth. If an episode takes me in the field, I’d be a liability.”

“An episode?”

Shame threatened to silence Burr, but he managed to get the words out. “I lose consciousness, sir, with no warning or pattern. The doctors tell me there is nothing they can do. It may pass in a month, or a year, or not at all. Until then, I’m a burden on my men. I won't let my sickness endanger their lives.”

Burr stared the general down. He did not dare raise his eyes over the general’s shoulder, to where he knew Hamilton would be paying keen attention. Hamilton may be his friend, but he was also his rival, and it burned to confess his weakness like this.

For once, it was the general who blinked first. “Hamilton, get Colonel Burr’s file for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a long, drawn out silence as Hamilton rifled through the piles and piles of papers around the office. Eventually, he found the one he was looking for. He thumbed through it with an expression of mild surprise. 

“I didn’t realize you’d been with us this long.”

Burr allowed himself a small smile. “I joined Arnold’s march into Canada, where I transferred to the late General Montgomery’s service. He sent me to New York.”

There was a pause as Washington took the file and flicked to the back page. As he did so, there was a pained expression on Hamilton’s face. There was something he did not understand, Burr guessed, or perhaps this had somehow raised a moral quandary for him - he always did look constipated when he was battling with his conscience. 

“There. You’re discharged from the Continental Army,” Washington said, signing off on Burr’s file. Then, looking like he’d bitten a lemon, he added, “Honorably.”

Burr inclined his head in a gesture of respect. “Thank you, sir. I’ll do what I can to support the cause from home.”

Washington only grunted in response and waved a hand. And like that, Burr’s career was done, with nothing more than a wave of Washington’s hand. He was halfway out the door when he heard Hamilton’s voice.

“Wait. Burr.”

Burr stopped and turned back towards the desk, raising an eyebrow. Washington was staring at Hamilton, waiting for his input with more patience than he had ever shown Burr. Despite having addressed Burr, Hamilton turned to his commander.

“Sir, Burr was instrumental in coordinating New York’s intelligence network before we lost the city. We need someone there.”

Both Washington and Burr stared at Hamilton. To his horror, Burr realized he was about to be in Hamilton’s debt. This explained the pained look on Hamilton’s face moments before: in all the years Burr had known him, he had never known Hamilton to be magnanimous. He could be kind, and generous, and many good things, but never selfless. But here he was, choosing to help his rival. No wonder he had looked so conflicted.

“I wasn’t aware you knew of my activities,” Burr said slowly.

“I didn’t. Not at the time. But Laurens did, didn’t he? He’ll tell me if I ask. I’m right, and you know it,” Hamilton said. There was enough smug satisfaction in his voice to soothe Burr’s fears that Hamilton had grown a conscience - he simply wanted to brag about being right. Whatever his motivations, Burr felt a rush of gratitude towards him when Washington spoke.

“If you can be discreet, we could use someone in New York.”

“If,” Burr said, his mouth curving into a crooked smile. There was little chance Washington would respect his accomplishments, but for the first time, Burr had a clear path to win him over. “Sir, Colonel Hamilton never realized I was anything more than a civilian, but I’ve been a soldier since before we met. Hamilton never had a clue. I can name every last man in his militia and give you a history of their movements. I can do the same for every militia that was active at the time, and provide an outline of my old intelligence network. None of them had any idea I was with the army.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Washington said. His expression was sour, but his next words confirmed Burr’s gambit hat worked. “You have a month to impress me, Burr. Good luck.”

Taking the dismissal for what it was, Burr nodded and left. Even now, he felt a spark of irritation at Washington. A month was not enough for any spy worth his salt to establish a network, not without compromising himself. Burr could only hope his old contacts were still reliable. 

He spent the last night in camp saying goodbye to his men. Most were unmoved by his resignation, but the men who had been with him from the start protested vigorously. He even spied a few tears from his closest friends, and all of them promised to write often. Once had said his farewells, he slipped away to John’s tent. Although unsurprised by the news, John was dismayed to learn he was leaving so quickly. He seemed determined to cram an entire week’s worth of both sex and affection into one night. It was not until Burr was half asleep that he admitted,

“I don’t want you to go.”

“We both know I have to,” Burr said quietly. He shifted in John’s arms, intending to reach up and touch his face, but John’s embrace was so tight he had no room to maneuver. He compensated by tilting his head up and stealing a kiss. “I’ll miss you.”

“What if I don’t see you again?”

Burr considered the prospect. “That was always a risk. Neither of us will be safe until the war is done.”

“I don’t mean that,” John shook his head. “What if - we’ll be apart. A lot.”

Realization dawned. A smile spread across Burr’s face, half-affectionate, half-teasing. “You’ll have to visit. You can treat my home like your own. What colour drapes do you want in the sitting room?”

John snorted. “Be serious, love.”

“I am serious,” Burr insisted. “I love you, John. Any home I build will have room for you in it. You have my word.”

The hesitant smile on John’s face was enough to make Burr’s heart swell with affection. They spent a few minutes in silence, just appreciating having the other close. Then, after a long time, John said,

“Green.”

At Burr’s look of bafflement, he laughed. “I want green curtains. Dark green.”

Burr stole another kiss rather than replying, but he filed the information away for later use. It had been over a year since they had spoken of it, but Burr sometimes still imagined John’s fantasy from the start of the war: a free union, peace, and a shared house in South Carolina just for the two of them. It was ridiculous, but it was something to cling to.

A month later, Burr was in New York. He bought himself an office with a comfortable apartment above. He bought green curtains and tried to adapt to life as a civilian. He did an astoundingly poor job of it. The luxury of free time felt like a curse, and he felt guilty for every comfort he took. The sight of a red coat would make him sweat, and he found hot weather affected him more than ever. Above all, he was keenly aware the city had changed. The streets were narrower, or the buildings taller - whatever it was, he could not put his finger on it. He asked Theodosia, but she could not give him an answer. All she did was shake her head and kiss his forehead, looking at him like he was something fragile. After she had dodged the question three times, Burr stopped asking. 

He turned his attention to his work. The task Washington had set him should have been impossible. Burr suspected it would have been impossible for anyone else, but Washington had underestimated him. Within a week of arriving in New York, he had re-established his network. Within two weeks, he was able to start preparing his first report. Burr attributed his success not just to his intelligence, but to Theodosia’s. When he had explained the situation to her, she had spoken to her friends, who had spoken to their friends, and so on. Before Burr knew it, he had the wives of British soldiers all feeding intelligence back to Theodosia and, ultimately, to him. He offered Theodosia credit for her work, but she laughed him off. 

“The last thing I want is the attention of your general. So long as you continue to behave, you can take the credit.”

“Do I ever behave?” Burr asked with a winning smile, and Theodosia laughed. Burr loved the sound of her laughter. When she was happy, he was able to make progress adjusting to civilian life. The more she shared with him, the more amazed he was that she loved him.

The day Theodosia’s husband died, Burr proposed. Theodosia rejected him outright, and spent fifteen minutes scolding him for being so presumptuous. He was to wait a proper amount of time for public mourning and take steps to make their relationship seem ordinary before he proposed again. Only then would she consent to marry him. Burr had nodded dumbly, knowing better than to contradict her. 

During Theodosia’s demanded mourning period, Burr focused again on his work. It was during that time Washington’s agent arrived to collect his report. Burr fretted all day about what intolerable fool Washington would send to deal with him, but by nightfall, no one had come. Burr retired to bed. Despite his best attempts to sleep, he tossed and turned found himself glaring at the ceiling. Was this another one of Washington’s insults? Had Burr been rejected again, with no chance to prove his merit?

He had nearly drifted off to sleep when he heard a sound downstairs. Burr tensed, and his heart started pounding in his chest. An intruder. The office was locked, and only Theodosia had the key. In total silence, Burr left his bed. He did not bother to find his clothes, but he did take the knife he kept by his bedside. Once armed, he took up a defensive position near the top of the stairs. He could not see the person coming up the stairs, but he could hear them. More importantly, he could get behind them as soon as they stepped out into the open. Burr counted the steps as the intruder climbed. One, two, then the squeaky step, and another six more before they came to a halt. Burr cursed mentally. The intruder had stopped just short of where Burr could safely reach him. 

“You’re waiting to ambush me, aren’t you?”

Burr knew that voice. He dropped the knife and turned the corner. John Laurens stood in front of him, covered in mud from the road and beaming. Burr let out a shout of joy and hugged him. He paid no mind to the dirty coat or sharp buckles that dug into his skin as he pressed as close as possible to his lover. They spent the night together, although it was not until noon the next day they properly exchanged news. Burr spent the first hour listening. He struggled to focus on the content of John’s words: instead, he found himself distracted by all the little things he had missed. He counted the freckles on John's skin as if he did not have every last spot memorized, and played with the curls of his hair. When it was his turn, he kept the news short. He told John of how easily he had completed Washington’s task, and of how hard it was to leave the war. It all seemed perfect, until Burr mentioned his intended marriage to Theodosia. John’s mouth froze into a hard, unhappy line. He pulled away from Burr, pushing him back when Burr tried to follow his movement.

“I knew this would happen.”

The bitterness in John’s voice was enough to make Burr flinch. It also confused him. “You told me to marry her, before we even left New York.”

“That was before I knew what it would mean for us.”

Burr stared at him, baffled. “Why should it change anything?”

“You’ll be _married_.”

“You’re married,” Burr pointed out. John shook his head furiously.

“That’s different. I hate my wife.”

There was nothing Burr could say to that. He had expressed his discomfort with John’s hatred for his family a thousand times over, but John could not seem to grasp why it made him uncomfortable. Under ordinary circumstances, they avoided the topic at all costs. 

“I love Theodosia. And I love you. I’ve never hidden that,” Burr said gently. He reached out for John’s hand. John did not turn back to look at him, but he did not stop Burr from lacing their fingers together. “Theodosia and I have an arrangement, just like we do. She knows I love you.”

John gave a snort of disbelief. “You mean she thinks you have sex with lots of women.”

“No,” Burr shook his head. “She knows I love you.”

That was enough to make John glance back at him, one eyebrow raised in silent disbelief. Burr smiled at him and kissed his forehead.

“I’ve told you before, Theodosia is smarter than either of us. She knew the first time she saw us together - she’s known for years, John.”

A long silence stretched out as John processed what he had learnt. Burr waited patiently, stroking his hair and watching as John’s’ expression shifted. Disbelief was soon taken over by fear, but before long even that gave way to fragile hope. Burr edged closer. When John did not retreat again, he pressed his lips against John’s mouth. When he pulled back, he said,

“I meant what I said before I left, John. I’ll always want you with me.”

Burr did not even finish his sentence before John pulled him into a hug. The embrace was so tight Burr’s breath left him in a grunt. Even though he could scarcely breathe, Burr let John hold him as tight as he pleased. For the rest of John’s visit, he made sure to indulge his every whim. The time for him to leave came too soon for both of them, but this time they at least had the comfort of a scheduled visit. It would not be long before Washington demanded another report, and John had ensured he would be the one running the messages. Their separation would be temporary.

The next time John visited, he did not come empty handed. In addition to grudging praise for his last report, he brought a personal gift. That alone intrigued Burr, as soon as John mentioned it. Gifts were a rarity between them. They could not risk being caught with tokens of affection from another man, or else Burr would have showered John in gifts. Instead, they had contented themselves with impermanent treats, like sweet pastries or fine wine. The longest lasting gift Burr had received to date was a pair of socks. John waited until they were alone before he pulled out a small wooden box and set it on the table. 

“I didn’t get anything for you,” Burr admitted. He had not worried about it until that moment, but he had not realized how much effort John had gone to with his gift. John grinned at him, but there was something strained in his expression.

“That’s fine. It’s a wedding gift.”

If Burr had been worried before, he panicked now. He gave John a desperate look, making no attempt to hide his fear. Before he could protest verbally, John chuckled and pushed the box a little closer to him. Burr took a deep breath. His hands shook as he lifted the lid. Within lay an exquisite silver pocket watch, marked with delicate engraving around the front case. 

“It’s a family tradition. Dad got me one when I got married,” John said. “There’s space for two portraits inside - for your wife, I guess, that’s what he put in mine - and I know you’re always late for everything, so I thought - “

Realizing John was rambling out of anxiety, Burr interrupted. “I love it.”

“Really?” 

John’s entire face lit up, so Burr leaned over and kissed him. “It’s perfect. I’ll think of you every time I use it.”

From the flash of satisfaction over John’s face, that had been his plan. The thought soothed Burr. He had known there would be some secret selfish motive, but this was something Burr would delight in too. He picked up the watch and examined it closely, making sure John knew how pleased he was with the gift. 

“Can I see yours?” he asked, curious. John obliged, pulling out his own pocket watch. When it was new, it must have been almost an exact duplicate of Burr’s. But after following John through the war, it had picked up all manner of scratches and dents. The engraving was almost black with dirt, and the latch barely managed to close. When he flicked it open, there was a battered portrait of a pretty young woman with sad eyes. Burr’s heart wrenched. He could not help but pity John’s wife, and he knew that was more thought than John gave to her feelings. 

The portrait was in even worse condition than the watch itself, stained with water and something Burr suspected was blood. One side of the portrait was frayed, as if it had been toyed with many times. Curious, Burr reached out and touched the ruffled edge of canvas. The miniature portrait fell out. In its place sat a small scrap of paper marked with Burr’s own elegant and looping handwriting. At some point, John had carefully torn the word ‘Dear’ from one of his letters and tucked it away for safekeeping. When Burr looked up, John was flushing red with embarrassment. 

“Well, I can’t exactly carry a portrait,” John said defensively. 

“No. But you can do better than this,” Burr told him. He went to his desk and found a sheet of his best paper. “What would you like me to write?”

“Anything,” John said. He had seemed surprised at first, but now that Burr had his pen and paper out, he watched greedily. Burr hummed. He took a few moments to think about it, but in the end, there was only one thing he could write that mattered. The words ‘I love you’ did not go far enough, but they were the only words that came close to capturing his feelings. He handed the paper over with a smile. It was only as he handed the paper over that he felt a rush of hesitation - but John grabbed the paper before he could act on it. Before Burr knew what was happening, John had secured the new scrap of paper in place. Together they popped the portrait back into place and closed the lid of the pocket watch. 

“One day,” John promised, “we won’t need this. I’ll see you every day.”

“I’d like that,” Burr said quietly. He had long since given up on protesting such statements. Not only was it futile, but reminding John of their chances always soured the mood. The sunshine bright smile Burr loved so much disappeared, and Burr invariably found himself trying to cheer John up. It was easier to accept his grandiose promises. And when he dared be honest with himself, Burr liked to dream too.


	14. Separation

The war raged on.

Burr’s intelligence network grew, and his reports to Washington became more frequent and more critical. Soon enough John was not the only soldier visiting him for news. There was a steady stream of informants in and out Burr's door. Even with ample excuses, John could not visit as often as either of them wanted. It introduced a new urgency to their encounters, neither of them knowing how long it would be before they saw each other again. John missed Burr’s wedding by a whole week. When he did show up, he hovered by Burr’s front door until invited in. The invitation took longer than it should have: Burr was so used to John entering his home that he had not thought any invitation was necessary. Once he realized, Burr had dragged John inside the house and given him a full tour. His new home was the home he shared with Theodosia, and so it was much larger than he was used to. He ended the tour in the guest bedroom, and made sure John knew exactly how welcome he was. It was not until John’s third visit after the wedding that he said,

“You were right.”

“Of course I was,” Burr said. "What was I right about?"

John laughed and kissed him before answering. “You’re mine. You’re married and you’re still mine.”

“I told you so,” Burr said, and John beamed at him like he had just made John’s dreams come true.

Months slid by and the seasons changed. Over time, Burr fell in love with civilian life. He could study all he wanted, and the only demand on his time was his family. It was not long before his family grew. Theodosia gave birth on a rainy afternoon. Burr had cried when he first saw his daughter, and she soon became his reason for living. Every day, he made sure to spend time with her, whether reading or sleeping or telling stories of her brave Uncle John. John himself came and went, but when he could not visit, he wrote. His letters were careful, couched in inference and suggestion with just enough innuendo to make Burr both flush and laugh. And then the letter Burr had been waiting for arrived.

_The war is over. I saw General Washington accept the British surrender myself. You should hear the bells, Burr! I have never seen so many people celebrating. I wish I could celebrate with you. We will have to save that for when you visit, and I expect you to visit soon. There is still work to be done in South Carolina, and I intend to be the one to do it. There is still time for my men and I to steal some glory and win their freedom. I expect to be done by the time this letter reaches you. You must come visit. There is plenty of room for your family in my home, and you deserve a holiday in the countryside._

The letter continued for several pages. It was the most precious letter Burr had ever received. They had made it through the war - not unscathed, but alive. If they could do that, what couldn’t they do? Burr’s response was long, covering several pages. After congratulating John for his role in winning the war, he shared his own stories about his work and his daughter. After a great deal of thought and debate with his wife, Burr accepted John’s offer to visit. Not only that, he asked John to keep an eye out for likely looking properties in the area.

_Theodosia is undecided, but if the land is half as charming as you say, I am certain we shall settle there promptly. If a promising opportunity should arise, I trust you to make a purchase on my behalf._

Even after that, the letter did not seem finished. Burr mulled over the letter for nearly two weeks. During that time, soldiers from Yorktown started to trickle back home. Much to Burr’s dismay, Hamilton bought the offices right next door to his own practice. Peace had not mellowed his attitude. He was cantankerous and loud, picking fights at every opportunity. The few warm feelings Burr had towards him evaporated quickly. He had been willing to tolerate bad behaviour in the war, both for John’s sake and out of sympathy for the stress he must have been under. There was no room for that now.

His dislike only grew when they worked together. Hamilton worked like a man possessed. He did not stop to eat or drink or sleep, and he mocked Burr mercilessly when he took time to tend to his own needs. Exhaustion and hunger made his already vile temper even more vicious. There was only one person Burr pitied more than himself in that matter, and that was Hamilton’s wife. Eliza Hamilton came to their shared office every night to bring Hamilton his supper, knowing all too well there was no chance of him returning home to dine with his family. Burr walked her home as often as she would allow it. He struggled to converse with her when he did. His first instinct was to discuss his own family, to reassure her his intentions were benign - but with how poorly her own marriage was going, it felt like mockery. The worst was when Alexander’s sharp tongue turned to her, too. Eliza bore the insults and crude remarks with good grace, but it should not have been her job to do so. Burr seethed with anger on her behalf. He could not imagine saying such things to his wife, much less in front of another man. Burr never said anything, but his disapproval was clear in his face.

“He’s not usually like this,” Eliza said one night, once they stood outside her home. Burr forced a smile.

“I’m sure.”

“He’s going through a difficult time. We just received word his friend Laurens died shortly after the victory in Yorktown. He - “

It was a lie. It had to be. Burr went numb, and he found his mind cast adrift from reality. It felt as though the bottom had fallen out of his stomach, even as he fought back a roll of nausea. Even these feelings seemed strange and distant to Burr. He stared at Eliza in utter disbelief.

“John’s dead?”

His voice cracked and broke on the words. Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes, and for once Burr could not bring himself to feel ashamed. His chest felt empty, and something stuck at the back of his throat, pricking and stinging and catching his breath. There was pity in Eliza’s eyes when she nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Did you know him?”

Burr managed a nod. He could only listen in horror as Mrs Hamilton shared what little she knew of John’s death. He had died two weeks ago. Two whole weeks ago! That was just when Burr had received his letter and celebrated with such delight. How was it possible that John could have died then? Surely Burr should have known. John had carried half his heart, half his soul, even if they had been separated by miles. It seemed impossible that he could have been ripped away from him, and that Burr had felt no pain or chill until now.

How the conversation with Eliza ended, Burr would never know. He did not remember saying goodbye. Nor did he remember walking home and locking himself in his office. He stood beside his desk, looking around at the familiar room like he had never seen it before in his life. None of it felt real. He pulled the curtains shut, hoping blocking out the outside world would help. It did, until he remembered why he had chosen green curtains, though they looked horrid with his furniture. Then the tears came. Burr clung to the heavy green fabric and wept. His knees gave way a few minutes in, and he found himself kneeling before the curtains and sobbing. Burr did not know how long he spent there. By the time the tears stopped, his head was pounding. It took him longer still to make his way to his feet. He trembled as he did so, but he managed to stagger across to his desk.

The letter he had been writing to John sat open at his desk. Burr stared at it. All the time he had spent stressing and worrying about his intended trip, and for what? He would never go to South Carolina now. There was no point with John dead. Burr took the letter, intending to throw it in the fire: but when he tried, he could not bring himself to do so. Instead, he folded it up and left it in the back of his desk drawer. He thought about all the letters he had hidden throughout the office, and the watch in his pocket. The last thought brought something like comfort with it. Burr may not have been with John in the end, but John had carried Burr’s words. He had known he was loved.

The longer Burr sat there, the more reasons he found to despair. Quite aside from his own life lying in ruins, John’s grand plans would never come true now. Burr would do what he could for individuals John had helped, but he was just one man. No one man could do what John had dreamed. John had tried, and look what it had got him - an early grave and shattered dreams. The idea held some appeal, but Burr found himself wondering what price his own life might buy. As far as he was concerned, his life was already over. 

The thought captured all his awareness until a wailing sound pulled him back to reality. Theo. His daughter was awake, and his wife would be exhausted, and Burr always told Theo a story when he got home from work. It may seem the world had ended, but Burr did not get to end with it. He had a life to live. He had a family to care for, and that was more than enough reason to keep living. Burr took a deep breath and shoved his emotions aside. It was all too easy to imagine John’s disapproving expression at suppressing his emotions, so Burr put that aside, too. He would not make John’s mistakes. John had cared too much and pushed too hard and too soon to get what he wanted. Burr would be cautious. He would consolidate his own power before pushing for change, and seize opportunities only when they came. Then, maybe he could honour John’s hopes and dreams. But until then, Burr would bide his time.

He would wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me through this story! And thank you to everyone who left a comment or kudos: you are the ones that kept me writing, even when I started to struggle with it.


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